


30 Days of Jazz and Prowl

by Vatukka



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers (Bay Movies), Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Generation One
Genre: 30 Day OTP Challenge, AU, Aftermath of Torture, Angst, Bad Puns, Barbarian!AU, Canonical Character Death, Dark, Fluff, Hand Jobs, Heavy Petting, M/M, MasterChef Australia Inspired Food, Mild Gore, Multi, Pre-War AU, Sticky, Sticky Sexual Interfacing, Torture, a sorry attempt of humor, bumper problems, games make Praxians tick, hell hath no fury like Jazz after someone messes with his visor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-07
Updated: 2017-08-09
Packaged: 2018-11-29 02:23:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 31
Words: 21,709
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11431179
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vatukka/pseuds/Vatukka
Summary: My take on 30 Days OTP Challenge with Jazz and Prowl and other Autobots, Decepticons and maybe humans. Not sure yet. But mostly with Jazz and Prowl.Bonus Story: Spotting Someone Really Attractive





	1. Holding Hands

**Author's Note:**

> Few years ago I did this challenge but back then it was for Shippu! Iron Leaguer fandom, and I've been wanting to do this again ever since. The only problem I had was not knowing, which ship of mine I'd pick. Prowl and Jazz were suggested to me ages ago but, as non-native speaker, I have always seen Jazz's lingo as something scary and uncertain how to use. I'll do my best with it and hope not to butcher it too badly. 
> 
> Also, I've got no beta right now, so will come back and tweak each chapter at some point.

The rules of this mixed courtship had been followed with meticulously, almost to the point of his utter frustration.

Prowl, the Third Heir of the House of Shimmergold, was highly aware how careful he had to be in order for this bonding to succeed but that didn’t ease the tenseness of the mech. Especially now that they had reached an important point of the courtship.

When his genitors had informed Prowl of his arranged bonding, he had searched for the various copies concerning courtship to brush up his knowledge on the subject. But finding out that his future bondmate would be the first creation of a noble family with higher status as his own had been a big surprise to Prowl, even more so after he had found out that they weren’t from Praxus.

Having to balance between two different forms of courtship traditions was _not_ something he had been expecting for. Especially when he had learned more about the differences the two city states had developed. There was one particular detail that had thrown a metaphorical wrench into Prowl’s plans: when it came to physical contact, the nobles of Praxus followed more relaxed rules, which meant future bondmates were allowed to touch each other without scorn fairly soon -- any indecent acts were still frowned upon, of course.

But, as Prowl had very soon learned, Polyhexians had a very different notion, when it came to rules of physical touch during the courtship. And since his future bondmate’s family had much higher status than his own, Prowl had had no choice but to follow the Polyhexian courting rules.

Still, having watch his future bonded through a thin, delicately woven curtain for three full vorns was starting to grate even the ever patient Prowl’s nerves, especially when the Praxian noble had grown to like his betrothed and quite a lot actually.

Three long vorns of chaperoned meetings, long letters and some carefully planned banquets had given Prowl a good idea just what kind of mech Jazz, the First Heir of the House of Nightfall, was:

Being the first creation, he had been well taught in all possible subjects, although Jazz's the main interests and talents were in music, something Prowl had always been fond of but never had had the gift for. Not to mention Jazz had a quick mind and more laidback attitude to certain social rules, which fascinated the Praxian noble.

Perhaps there laid the reason why Polyhexians preferred to keep their distance during the first stages of courtship so that they could grow to appreciate the processors and spark of their future bondmate.

Nonetheless Prowl’s determination to make sure this courtship would succeed had only strengthened and not because he was aiming for a better status among the nobility.

The servant, who Prowl had been following through the halls of the mansion, stopped in front of an ornately painted sliding door. Only vorns of practice kept Prowl’s jewelry decorated doorwings from flaring, his field just as tightly controlled, but underneath the cool façade, the Praxian noble was feeling uncharacteristically nervous.

Today was the orn, the orn Prowl was allowed to actually see and touch Jazz properly.

The sliding door opened quietly and by now a very familiar voice asked for “Lord Prowl of Shimmergold to step in”.

Straightening his back, Prowl walked past the bowing servant and into the richly decorated room, his attention immediately drawn to the open double doors on his right. There, sitting on plush pillows and watching the immaculately tended crystal garden, was Jazz, the First Heir of the House of Nightfall. Next to him was a small table with energon in crystalline flutes and snacks within his reach but clearly untouched. His back was to Prowl and the Praxian noble felt his spark flare for being able to fully see all the etched details and inlaid gems decorating the other noble’s frame.

The sound of sliding door closing behind him had Prowl suddenly freezing, nervous.

He had known this step of courtship would happen eventually; Prowl had been calculating different outcomes, formed maybe three hundred different approaches he could use today but right now, when it was finally happening? His processors stalled, frame tensing as all Prowl could think of was Jazz’s smile and how it would look like with no curtain between them.

Then Jazz moved, turning around to look at the flustered Praxian noble over his shoulder. The bright blue visor brightened even as a wide smile appeared on Jazz’s face. “Hello there, Prowler,” Jazz greeted him, smoothly pushing himself up.

Hearing the nickname Jazz had given him after two vorns into their courting caused Prowl to blink, doorwings rising and falling minutely, the expensive jewelry tinkling at the movement. “Hello, my lord,” he said with a small smile, taking a step forward, but the other mech was faster.

Before Prowl realized it, Jazz was standing next to him, holding his servo, Jazz's black digits curling around Prowl’s white ones. “Come, let us watch the garden, my betrothed,” Jazz suggested, and from this close Prowl could feel just how nervous _and_ excited the Polyhexian noble was.

His servo was trembling because of it and without even truly realizing it, Prowl turned his hand to properly hold it, squeezing the black digits gently even as his thumb started to rub the back of his Jazz’s servo. “Sounds like a lovely idea, my lord,” Prowl replied, doorwings fluttering as Jazz’s field flared with happiness.

With a tug of his hand, Prowl allowed Jazz to lead them back to the pillows and they sat down. Jazz made a move to pick up one of the energon flutes but Prowl stopped him with a squeeze of servo, the Polyhexian noble pausing before glancing down at their still joined servos.

Prowl said nothing but his field slipped slightly, optics bright as he met the other mech’s gaze again.

The bright, beautiful smile he got in response made the Praxian noble’s spark swell and his doorwings flared again, when Jazz squeezed his servo before interlacing their digits together. The flutes of energon and snacks stayed untouched on the side as the two nobles sat side by side with a respective distance between them, conversing and laughing as they continued to hold servos.


	2. Cuddling Somewhere

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Takes place between Defiance #3 and #4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Been a while since I've read Defiance. Damn, Bayverse Prowl's hot.

“I miss it.”

The quiet words had the other mech stir and hum, the notes holding a question while a servo moved, the sharp claws reaching between the plating to stroke a cluster of nerve receptors. It worked; the silvery mech shuddered and the _anguish-sorrow-homesicknes_ s that had appeared in Jazz’s previously content field eased a fraction.

Prowl rumbled, pleased, optics powering up as he looked up but Jazz wasn’t looking at him; the pale violet visor was looking into the distance, across the vast planes of Burthov. Their meeting place was on top one of the highest still standing laboratories but deep in the shadows to hide them from any possible spies.

The former Science Divison owned area was quiet save for the night patrols and maintenance crews, who kept Burthov running despite it having become the base of the Autobots. Prowl didn’t need to turn his helm to know, in which direction Jazz was watching, because he had done the very same too many times than the former head of Security Force cared to remember.

“I miss the city, Prowl,” Jazz continued, plating fluffing before settling again, belying just how upset he was. “My home, the streets I patrolled and the mechs and femmes I was protecting. I know what we are doing is important but -- “

“But sometimes you secretly wish for things to return as they were,” Prowl finished with a sigh, his own field now echoing Jazz’s. The bigger mech shifted slightly to nuzzle Jazz’s chestplate, claws gently raking over the silvery plating, trying to soothe Jazz as much as himself. “You miss the lights, the chase, the satisfaction that comes from doing your duty; you miss your old life,” he murmured, optics powering down, focusing rest of his sensors to the warm frame wrapped around his, the familiar pulse of Jazz’s spark.

“Yeah,” Jazz admitted quietly, servos finding Prowl’s back, stroking and massaging the winglets with gentle magnet pulses.

The two of them stayed like that for hours, holding each other close and sharing the hidden sorrow they both felt, until Jazz was called in to join a patrol, the slightly frazzled sounding Cliffjumper informing him about an intruder approaching from the direction of Trypticon.

“Alright, let’s go and find out what’s got Cliffie’s cables in a twist,” Jazz mused with a cheeky grin, visor brightening more, the pale violet light washing over them. There was no trace of his previous dark mood, replaced with the mischievousness the Autobots had come to associate with the former Security Force member.

Prowl nodded and let go of him, standing up. “I’ll be with Optimus waiting for the rapport,” he told Jazz, his own mask having slipped in place as well.

Reaching for the bigger mech, Jazz wrapped his claws around Prowl’s neck, tugging him down. “See you later, Prowler,” Jazz murmured, pressing their forehelms together.

The other’s field flared in a silent agreement, mingling with the silvery mech’s, who grinned widely before letting go. With a jaunty salute, Jazz turned and vaulted himself over the edge, disappearing down into the shadows.


	3. Gaming

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eh. This one was really hard to write. Hope tomorrow's prompt will be easier.

“Ohhhh - oh _frag_.”

Any other time Sideswipe would’ve just continued walking straight to the energon dispenser, especially today; he was back from a long patrol from the coast side and really wanted to clean himself from all the sand stuck in between his plating and protoform but near empty fuel tanks won over the irritating itchiness.

But the moment the red front liner caught what was going on, he froze dead on his tracks.

(Well, there was that moan that also was the reason for his halt.)

The rec. room was more subdued than normally as mechs stared at the two Praxians sitting in one of the corner tables, and Sideswipe could make out the hologram of a complex, strategic game between them. He had tried playing it few times and knew that one game easily lasted more than several hours and -- Sideswipe squinted his optics, seeing an area of the four tier game flash and disappear before another tier formed, the change of colors informing him that whoever was playing as Protector had made the move -- it looked like this particular one had started long before Sideswipe’s patrol.

Yet another flare of orange took over the second lowest tier, indicating yet another win for the Protector player, and Sideswipe whistled in admiration. “So how long has that been going on?” he asked, glancing at the occupants of the nearby table, which consisted on an amused Optimus, Ironhide, who was cleaning a blaster, and an extremely squirmy Jazz.

“They started yesterday evening,” Optimus replied, lifting his cube and taking a sip of it, “and have not moved since. I am not certain but I think it's safe to say that they are about to break the record on the longest game of Protector and Priest.”

“That was three hours ago,” Ironhide informed them both, barely lifting his optics from the pieces he had laid on the table and was cleaning meticulously. Weapons maintenance had gotten even more important after waking up on Earth, because dust got  _everywhere_. “Prowl’s gotten more and more annoyed after that,” he added calmly, which caused Optimus to chuckle and Jazz to squirm some more.

Sideswipe gave the Head of Special Ops a sympathetic look; he knew all too well just what prolonged strategy games did to Prowl, especially when he was on the losing side. “That bad?” he asked even as Jazz whimpered, hiding his face into his hands.

“Mech, you’ve got no idea,” Jazz replied, fans whirring. “If Blue’s not gonna make the killing move any time soon, Ah’ll do something drastic; fake mah death, yell Decepticons -- ”

The rec. room’s security system crackled into life before Jazz managed to finish, and nearly all the Autobots (minus the playing Bluestreak and Prowl) startled visibly as the irate sound of Red Alert hissed from the speakers;

“No threatening with false alarms or I’ll cart your overheated aft into the brig!”

That earned the security cameras a pout and a rude human hand gesture, while the rest of the Autobots started to laugh, Sideswipe’s cackles being the loudest among them. Clearly Red Alert had also been following the game and keeping an optic on the steaming Jazz.

Jazz had barely lowered himself back to his seat, when he stopped, frame going deathly still.

Sideswipe quickly turned around, just in time to see how all tiers -- holy Primus, when five had turned into eight? -- turned completely orange, then crumbled down and declared the Protector as the winner.

The red frontliner noted three things that happened almost instantly as that happened:

1) Bluestreak started to chatter like always and he was pretty much vibrating in his seat as his doorwings kept fluttering with pent up energy, 2) Prowl sat still like a statue, servos in front of his face, his optics narrow as he clearly processed his loss, and 3) Jazz was out of the door like shot.

Sideswipe shook his helm and gave Optimus and Ironhide a nod, the former returning the gesture with an amused grin while the latter merely grunted.

On his way to the dispenser, the red frontliner passed Prowl, who was moving with the air of a predator, doorwings raised up and spread wide, and from this close Sideswipe could feel the charge the black and white mech was giving off. No wonder Jazz had bolted the second the game was over; having to experience second-hand Prowl’s mounting up frustration and arousal for almost twenty four hours must’ve been intense.

Praxians and their games, Sidewipe mused, even as Bluestreak appeared next to the red frontliner, his field radiating so much smugness that it would've put a photovoiltaic cat in shame.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I got the idea for the game name from Lord High Protector and Prime, and imagine that at the start of the game is that both Protector and Priest are given a blank Cybertron and the aim of the game is to create culture, economy and choose between starting intergalactic trades or conquering nearby systems but also take care of the population (take down old buildings and build new ones, how to handle waste disposal and so on). Protector and Priest have different basic skills and ambitions but can be modified as the game goes on. 
> 
> The number of tiers hints how long the game has been going on and how much the players have been level up their Cybertron (one tier = basic culture is forming and so on, eight tiers = high level of culture evolved, there are industrial areas, space travel and so on). 
> 
> Or something like that. I put way too much thought into this game. ^^''
> 
> I chose Bluestreak for Prowl's opponent because, well, something different than Smokescreen.


	4. On a Date

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Date night gets ruined.

“I am sorry that this happened,” he apologized, shoulders slumping.

“It’s alright, you could’ve not guessed this,” Jazz reassured him, pausing long enough to reach for Prowl’s arm and squeezed it comfortingly. “It was a freak accident.”

“I should’ve,” Prowl near-grumbled, his doorwings reflecting the SIC’s mixed mood as they drooped for a second before flaring again in annoyance. “I had Sky Spy scout the area -- _twice!_ ” he added as another shot hit the boulder they were using as a cover, sending pebbles of rock flying and rain down on them.

Some of the shards landed on the abandoned treats, destroying the delicate sweets. Behind his visor Jazz' optics narrowed and he held back some colorful curses -- it had taken him _days_ to convince Cosmos into making him them! Engine growling, the saboteur poured pellets into the containers he always carried in his subspace. 

“Fragging Decepticons,” the normally stoic SIC muttered, field filled with righteous fury - he had also seen what had happened. 

They had been planning this for weeks now and to have their date interrupted by an unexpected Decepticon activity in the middle of nowhere?

Jazz finished assembling the pipe bombs. “Ready when you are, dear,” he purred sinisterly.

Engine revving, Prowl nodded before twisting around, releasing a barrage of acid pellets, Jazz using the cover fire to leap over the bolder and do what he did best; cause mayhem behind the enemy lines.

Really, those Stunticons were going to feel so sorry for ruining their date night.


	5. Kissing

Jazz smiled fondly, when Prowl’s doorwings fluttered before settling down, something he had seen to happen several times already. He was lying on his side, jaw resting on his servo as he watched the other mech, while Prowl had settled onto his chest and was in deep recharge, one of the two positions the Praxian could truly rest. His faceplates were turned towards Jazz, though, which gave the black and white mech the proper view of Prowl’s calm, relaxed expression, illuminated by the dim light of Jazz’s visor.

It was late in the night, almost close to 3AM, but Jazz felt no need to rest. While Autobots had tailored their schedules and patrol duties to follow the short solar cycles of Earth, most of them still followed in their daily lives the much longer orns of Cybertron, Jazz among them.

The doorwings fluttered again and this time Jazz laughed quietly. He couldn’t help but lean closer and press a soft kiss on Prowl’s chevron, missing how the sensitive doorwings shifted, tilting upwards as gave a second kiss on the red helm decoration.

“Jazz…?” Prowl mumbled, roused by the light touches.

“It’s alright, Prowler, go back to recharge,” Jazz hushed reassuringly, pressing another kiss on the chevron and this time his lips lingered on it.

Optics onlining, the other mech ppered up into Jazz’s visor. “You should recharge, too,” Prowl pointed out, the corners of his mouth tilting downwards in displeasure.

Shifting, Prowl reached out for Jazz. 

The smaller mech grinned with a mix of amusement and fondness as Prowl, still half in recharge, failed in his first try, the white fingers uselessly brushing the black and white chest plates instead of their intended target, which Jazz guessed had been his shoulder or arm. He was more successful with his second try, grabbing Jazz's shoulder and the smaller mech let himself to be pulled down, now face to face with his drowsy lover. 

“Recharge,” Prowl repeated, trying to come out as firm and commanding but the half scowling and half sleepy expression on his faceplates had the other mech look extremely adorable instead.

“Alright, Prowler,” Jazz gave in with a chuckle, leaning closer with the intention to kiss the red chevron again.

Instead he ended up kissing Prowl on the lips, the smaller mech’s visor brightening in surprise. A soft groan escaped from Jazz, when the larger mech’s glossa lazily traced Jazz’s bottom lip, little sparks of pleasure causing a fan to klick on.

But Prowl didn’t notice this, not even as they parted and he settled down again. “Good,” he murmured, offlining his optics as he relaxed again.

Still surprised, Jazz stared at the already recharging mech for few moments before shaking his helm with a grin. Settling down himself, the smaller mech powered down his visor, initiating his own recharge protocols.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was fun to write. They deserved some nice cuddling and kisses after last chapter.


	6. Wearing Each Other’s Clothes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I admit stealing the very idea of this from my previous 30 Days of OTP Challenge, albeit with minor adjustments.

Ratchet trudged down the hall as he tried to concentrate on the datapad in his hand, although mentally he was cursing the twins for keeping him up so long last night. Oh, they had had _very_ pleasant time before crashing into recharge in a mess of limbs, cables and fluids but thanks to that Ratchet hadn’t had enough recharge last night.

Muttering under his breath, Ratchet’s optics barely lifted up from the datapad, when his sensors registered someone approaching from behind -- and fast.

It was only when he felt the nearing edges of a gleeful EM field that had the CMO narrowing his optics; he lifted his gaze even as a slightly breathless Sideswipe skidded into a stop next to him.

“Hi Ratchet!” Sideswipe greeted, field blooming with mischief and he was grinning like a maniac.

“Glitch, what have you done this ti -- ?” Ratchet growled, only to be silenced as Sideswipe thoroughly kissed him.

“Love you, Ratchet, keep me in your memories and console Sunny for me, okay?” the red hellion said before he was off again, disappearing around the corner with a cackle.

The white and red mech blinked, baffled at what had just happened, when a snarling streak of black and white passed him, and Ratchet blinked again, spotting a pair of haphazardly bouncing doorwings but something was wrong with them; no doorwings should not move like that, unless they were about to fall off.

The CMO’s inbuilt scanners got in action almost straight away, getting imperfect results, since the mech disappeared around the corner as well, leaving Ratchet even more confused as he processed the scanner rapport, because it implied that the material did not meet not a single specs Ratchet had on doorwings.

“The frag is going on around here?” Ratchet asked out loud, only to nearly jump out of his plating, when a calm voice answered right behind him:

“You are about to end with one berthmate less, that’s what going on,” Prowl drawled, sounding more than little put off.

Quickly turning around and ready with a sharp remark on the SIC’s habit on sneaking up on mechs, Ratchet’s engine died mid rev, when the CMO got a proper look of Prowl, creating instead a weird, choke-like noise. 

Prowl lifted an browplate at the odd sound -- or at least Ratchet guessed, since there was a visor hiding the black and white mech’s optics.

Ratchet felt a small headache forming somewhere behind his left optic, the scanners back in action as he took in the oddly looking mech in front of him. It took the CMO a klik to realize, what was amiss; Prowl’s colors had been swapped, as in the previously black parts where white and vice versa. Even his chevron had been painted black but what alarmed Ratchet most was the lack of doorwings.

“Where -- ?!” he started, only to be interrupted by the other mech, looking none too pleased.

“It seems that Sideswipe has gotten his hands on some type of holographic equipment,” Prowl replied, arms crossed over his chest even as his field radiated annoyance. “They are there but can’t be seen. He has also somehow attached a pair of fake doorwings on Jazz’s back as well as other details I have and he doesn’t -- just like he has given me these.” One black servo lifted up to tap the clearly fake audio horns on the side of Prowl’s currently black helm.

“And the visor?” Ratchet asked, incredulous just how _stupid_ Sideswipe had been. When he even had had the time to do this?

They had all been so worn out last night and -- wait a second…

The visor reacted to Prowl’s annoyance in what was close enough to call as narrowing optics and had his doorwings been visible, Ratchet was certain they would’ve been hiked up to emphasize the irritated look. “This is Jazz’s actual visor, hence him being rather… _upset_ about this prank. And so am I.”

“Sideswipe couldn’t have done this,” Ratchet blurted, processors overworking even as he commed Sunstreaker.

The SIC gave Ratchet a look that conveyed his disbelief but at least he was listening and not hunting Sideswipe like the ticked off saboteur.

“Sideswipe was with me and Sunstreaker the whole night -- we can vouch for it -- there is no way he could’ve sneaked out last night without waking us both,” the white and red mech continued, having gotten his confirmation from the yellow twin.

“… You are 100% certain?” Prowl asked slowly, skeptical.

Ratchet gave the smaller mech a flat look. “Unless you want to hear the explicit details on how we went into recharge last night, then yes, I am _absolutely_ certain,” he reassured, ignoring Sunstreaker, who had started to ping Ratchet rather urgently after the CMO had ended the comm so abruptly.

Prowl frowned. “Oh.”

“Yes, oh, so could you please call off your murderous mate before I am one twin short?” the CMO demanded, finally answering Sunstreaker and reassuring him that no, it was not Prowl was ready to ‘throttle his idiotic glitch of a brother’.

“But he ran…?” Prowl tried, still clearly not convinced.

“Considering how many times Sideswipe’s been the smartaft behind the pranks and factoring how much it frags Jazz off to have anyone mess with his visor, I am confident that the red glitch just happened to be in a wrong play in a wrong time as well as reacted in an absolutely wrong way.” Ratchet huffed, rubbing his chevron. “My bet is that he started laughing, when he saw you two, and Jazz blew a gasket because of that.”

From the silence he got as an answer that was what had happened.

“I’m calling Jazz off.”

“Much appreciated. And considering your doorwings have been disguised with holograms, I suggest you two to visit Wheeljack; he might have an idea, where they came from. He might even know, who asked for him to build them.”

Prowl only nodded at that before stiffly walking away, turning around the same corner as Sideswipe and Jazz had.

Ratchet stared after the SIC before sighing. Frag this, he was going back to berth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So who was it? Who could've sneaked in on both Jazz and Prowl and do something like this to them without waking them up?  
> Well, there's no certain answer so it could've been anyone. But not Sideswipe. This is time. ;)


	7. Cosplaying

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So how do transformers and cosplaying work? This is how it works.

Prowl stared and he stared some more even as he tried to process what he was seeing.

Jazz, on the other hand, was beaming proudly.

“Those are humans.”

“Yup.”

“They are wearing fake armor.”

“Yup.”

“Why are they are doing that?”

“’cause they are fans, Prowler” Jazz grinned, chuckling as a human sparkling made a pose to the camera, holding a rather big wrench in her hand, and he was even more amused, when the little red crosses on her shoulders glittered in the lights while Prowl’s expression turned even more confused as the video continued to play on Teletraan’s main screen.

“Why are those humans dressed up as Seekers?” he asked, doorswings tilting upwards before lowering in alarm, “shouldn’t we inform their government that they have Decepticon sympathizers in their midst?”

“Wha - no! They are just having fun, Prowl. It’s called cosplaying.”

“Cosplaying?” the SIC repeated with a frown, all but radiating suspicion.

Primus, he looked like he was about to contact Red Alert and Prime. Quickly, before the mech actually put through his plan to raid a convention in UK, Jazz forwarded the clip. He knew he had found the right spot, when Prowl’s vents stuttered, field flaring in shock.

“Why are those humans pretending to be us? And why are they kissing each other?!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No cosplayers were harmed in the end. Instead they got a really cool visitor across the pond and everybody had so much fun at the convention. This fic is my nod to TF Nation (formerly known as Auto Assembly), the only tranformers convention I've ever been to. The talent of those cosplayers I saw there was absolutely amazing.


	8. Shopping

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I admit the plot of this fic might not qualify this prompt but what can I do. 
> 
> I also admit jumping in on the barbarian!AU bandwagon.

The market was bustling with mechs and femmes as the calls of the vendors filled the air, trying to encourage potential customers to come and check their products or arguing with their neighbours. More than often he had to sidestep a giggling sparkling that ran underfoot, often followed by their either frustrated or amused creators.

Prowl couldn’t stop the smile tugging one corner of his mouth, old memories surfacing; he had been just like those sparklings, running excitedly to see the toymakers stalls and the shiny, finely crafted toys, while his creator had followed right behind him.

The black and white mech made a mental note to check on Blustreak’s hut, since it had been almost to seasons, since they had seen each other. Prowl might’ve moved out of his creator’s hut several hundreds of vorns ago and had a tent of his own but he still enjoyed spending time with Bluestreak, just as much as Bluestreak enjoyed it, when his oldest creation came to visit.

Shifting the bag under his arm, Prowl scanned the market, bright blue optics searching for a particular stall. The black and white mech could only hope that _he_ was there; it was not surprising that some of the vendors didn’t put up their stall every solar cycle but Prowl really hoped the other was here.

Pushing his way through the mechs and femmes, Prowl wandered around for a while, sensors alert. He ended up trading for few things, like a poncho and some treats for Bluestreak and Silverstreak. Prowl was wondering just how much his little brother had grown since their last meeting, when he heard the cheering of sparklings and younglings, followed by a dramatically played drums.

Doorwings fluttering, the black and white mech quickly followed the sounds and eventually he found a crowd that had gathered around a relatively small stall that sold different kind of instruments as well as beautifully decorated masks.

What had the younglings and sparklings screeching in delight was the mech that was performing right next to the stall. He was wearing a decoratively painted mask, stylished after the giant Predacons of the Rust Sea. Attached in his servos and shoulders were long strips of dark blue fabric, finely woven and decorated with gold and silver embroidery, flowing after him as the mech danced, mimicking the legendary sea beasts’ long glittery frames.

The drums, which Prowl guessed to present the roaring of the Rust Sea during the storms, rose into another crescendo and the mech turned and twisted around, helm tilted back in a mock roar before dove down, laying himself dramatically on the ground.

Prowl cheered with the crowd, his spark spinning faster as he watched the mech stand up and bow before taking off the mask, revealing a handsome faceplates and the aqua blue visor. With the show over, most of the mechs wandered off but a few approached the drum player, a red and yellow mech, clearly interested in a trade. Prowl watched the dancer go to the stall and carefully put the Predacon mask away and start to remove rest of his get up.

Taking a deep, calming breath, the black and white mech approached him.

He got noticed soon and the bright grin that appeared on the other mech’s faceplates made Prowl’s vents stall for a moment.

“Look what th’ turbofox dragged in! Thought you wouldn’t make it here this solar cycle,” Jazz greeted, reaching to grab Prowl’s forearm.

The other mech returned the gesture, squeezing the white forearm. “I arrived here four orns ago, Jazz, it’s you, who is late,” Prowl informed with a small smile of his own, which had Jazz shrugging.

“We had a little incident on our way here,” he explained, continuing to take of rest of his costume. “Couple of citylings had wandered too far from th’ trade route, so we took a break to help ‘em. Me and Blaster caught up with th’ rest of tribe few orns after that.”

Prowl frowned a little at hearing that. “I see,” he said, doorwings hiking up a fraction and lowering almost immediately.

The movement was caught by the other mech, who waved his servo. “Nah, it’s alright, they were good mechs, some kind of clan elders, if I understood correctly,” he reassured Prowl.

They both were aware of the tension between City Dwellers and Wandering Clans, which had been growing lately. Why, the two of them didn’t know and frankly right now Prowl didn’t care about it at all.

Clearing his vents, Prowl reached for his bag, careful to conceal the sudden flicker of nervousness. “I’ve come to trade,” he informed Jazz, “and I hope you would accept it.”

The other mech perked up, curious but pleased as well. “You found something you want? Mech, finally! I’ve been trying to get you to do that for vorns now. Now, I’ve got th’ perfect flute for you; it’s made from th’ bones of a technodeer and I just know you’ll… love it…”

Jazz’s words trailed off, jaw dropping as he watched Prowl open the bag and pull out a large shawl, dyed in the exactly same shade of blue as Jazz’s visor. Little crystal beads had been thread with the yarn, creating a glimmering effect as the sunlight hit the fabric.

“I want to trade for your spark, Jazz of Rainsong, to take care and protect it as long as my frame and Primus wills it,” Prowl said, reciting the words that Bluestreak had taught him so long ago, when he was still a sparkling, “and in return I, Prowl of Swiftwing, will give you my spark, my very life to you.” Prowl licked his lip, frame humming with tension as he offered the shawl to Jazz. “Do you accept my trade?” he asked, arms trembling ever so lightly.

The silence stretched between them, and thanks to his nerves, Prowl became almost painfully aware of their surroundings on the crowded market; the yells of a displeased vendor, the whispers of mechs right behind them and the clatter of a mask falling on the ground. But his optics were on Jazz, waiting for his reply.

But the other mech just kept staring at the shawl with an expression on his faceplates that Prowl could not interpret, his field pulled close so there was no way for Prowl to get a hint what the other was thinking. As moments passed, Prowl’s control on his frame was failing as the doorwings started to tremble as well, and Jazz still kept silent.

“I’m sorry,” Prowl whispered, fingers gripping on the shawl and he started to pull it away, “I won’t bother you anymore -- “

The sudden touch on his arm had Prowl jumping and, in his moment of disbalance, the shawl was taken from the doorwinged mech’s hands.

“Your offer has been weighted and deemed suitable, Prowl of Swiftwing,” Jazz said with a soft smile, wrapping the shawl around his shoulders. He chuckled at the poleaxed expression on the other mech’s faceplates and he gathered Prowl’s servos into his own, squeezing them gently.

Hearing those words had a physical effect on him; Prowl released air through his vents, sagging visibly before he straightened himself again. There was the smallest of smiles on his lips but his field was blooming with joy. “Thank you,” he whispered, hesitating for a moment before leaning forward and pressing his chevron against Jazz’s forehelm.

“Thank _you_ , Prowl,” Jazz replied with a smile, his own field just as joyous as Prowl’s.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shopping? Trading? Get it, eh? 
> 
> Why I chose Bluestreak as Prowl's creator, well, that's a nod to a fic I read years ago in FF.net. I vaguely remember finding it hilarious, because it played with the idea that no one had realized, who Prowl's creator was and how different mechs (mainly Jazz and I think the twins) reacted to that.


	9. Hanging Out With Friends

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This particular prompt was very _hard_ to write. I started it at least three times before managing to come up with something that I was at least somewhat pleased with. 
> 
> This one's a bit more somber compared to the previous fic.

It was different these days, _he_ was different these days.

He had always been an outgoing person, who enjoyed being with others. Between his duties he used to visit art galleries, outdoor concerts and take part in small events, where he would meet mechs and femmes with similar interests. Simply put, his social circles had been a lot bigger.

Then the war came and his whole world got shaken by its foundations.

At first he, just like many others, had thought it would be over soon, that Cybertron would go back to normal. But when the bombings continued, destroying parks, buildings and eventually complete cities, he and the rest of the dwindling population realized how wrong they had been. So he adapted, created new friendships; he joined one side just like lot of the mechs and femmes he had known. But he couldn’t help but notice that some of the people he used to know disappeared completely; leaving no trace behind. He learned to accept that, casualties did happen during war time.

Still, he found his aim wavering, when he would suddenly spot a familiar face across the battlefield, which no longer belonged to a friend but to an enemy.

So he adapted even more. He still spent time with others, laughing with them and accepting invitations to friendly games but he didn’t let anyone close.

He had no friends, not anymore.

He only had brothers-in-arms.

It was easier that way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Who the mech here is? Is it Prowl? Jazz? Or could it be them both? I leave the answer to you.


	10. With Animal Ears

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1 hic = roughly 1 km, according to TF.wiki at least.
> 
> Good wews: Woop woop, it the tenth story already! Just twenty more to go. :D  
> Bad wews: I couldn't post ten stories ten days straight. It's 1.30AM here. ;__;

Jazz pulled the hood of his cloak up, covering his sensitive audials from the biting winds of the Manganese Mountains while he admired how the setting sun colored the majestic peaks. The gusts of wind made the surrounding tingrass wave and glint like a copper-colored sea while the much larger crystal growths glowed, humming softly. The path -- well, it was more close to a mechanimal trail, since the surrounding area was covered with thick patches of tingrass -- Jazz had been following had started to grow much steeper during the past two joors, forcing him to half-climb during his ascent.

This here was one of the main reasons why he had decided to pursue a career in archeology, to witness the wilderness of Cybertron in such remote places.

_::Camp to Jazz, what is your location?::_

_::Jazz to Camp, ah’m four hics to north and have been followin’ the potential path Laserbeak and Buzzsaw found yesterday. So far my findings have been promisin’; have found what could be stairs and geometrically cut slabs with evenly placed markings in two different places. Think this could be it, Blaster.::_

Jazz grinned at the cheerful reaction he got from the other mech.

_::Oh yeah! Have you taken image captures? Oh course you have. Hah, those rusted toasters of Polyhex Minor will have to eat their words. Rumors and drunken tales, my aft! We have the proof now!::_

_::Don’t get too excited, my mech::_ Jazz chuckled, pulling out a datapad from his subspace to type down some notes. _::We still need to conduct proper diggin’ and document the findings and write all those fancy presentations before we can submit them to the University.::_

 _::Yeah, but that’s why we have Soundwave::_ Blaster replied without missing a beat, and Jazz couldn’t help but snort at that. _::You better start to climb back down soon, Jazz, it’s gonna get dark in few joors and you know how dangerous the mountains can be.::_

 _::Has there been more sightings?::_ Jazz asked, worried.

 _::If you mean did Eject and Rewind found more wirelion tracks right this morning, then yeah, the answer is yes::_ Blaster replied grimly, causing Jazz to grimace.

The largest predators of Manganese Mountains were most dangerous as the sun set, something Jazz had personally witnessed in the past. At least they roamed in smaller prides than the wirelions of Rust Sea, if nothing else.

_::Ah’ll head back now. Just gonna mark the area for tomorrow. Jazz out.::_

_::Roger that. See you soon.::_

Dotting down last of his notes and his location in the GPS, Jazz subspaced the datapad and reached for the bag hidden under his cloak. Opening the clasp, he took out a box. Taking out one of the small trackers, Jazz started to look out for a place to place it.

He approached one of the crystals that would suit for his plans.

Stopping to admire the giant of a crystal for a moment, Jazz tilted his helm as he watched the sharp tips reach for the skies. It a truly beautiful specimen with deep blue shades that was easily twice the size of black and white mech. Jazz. The crystal could easily be several hundreds of vorns old, maybe even thousands, since here in the wild there were no gardeners to tend them, so the tips would break down on their own.

Pressing a servo on the smooth surface, Jazz dimmed his visor and lowered the hood, listening to the crystal. The humming tones of the ancient crystal were beautiful, and Jazz shivered as the sound filled his sensitive audios. He could’ve stayed like that, listening to the crystal song for much longer, but suddenly his proximity sensors came alive.

Cursing inwardly, Jazz onlined his visor even as he reached for the stunner magnetized on his thigh. He slowly turned around, backplates pressed to the crystal as he scanned the area, searching. His plating tingled even as his sensors swept over the surrounding area but came back with nothing. Jazz _knew_ something was out there but what he really wanted to know was that something a hungry wirelion or a startled copperpheasant.

A rustle on his left made Jazz turn quickly, stunner powered up… only to meet a pair of glowing optics of a turbofox.

The mechanimal was higher on the tingrass covered trail, maybe ten mechanometers away from him.

Jazz x-vented and tension left his frame as he lowered the stunner. “Ya scared me there for a moment, lil’ fellow,” he said out loud with a chuckle, only to tilt his helm, when the mechanimal didn’t dash away the moment he spoke. Instead, it kept staring at the mech rather intensely. “Curious thing, aren’t ya?” Jazz mused, grinning as he was reminded of a very concentrated Ravage.

For a turbofox it was rather fearless, Jazz mused as he kept staring back at it.

Despite most of its frame being hidden by the patch of tingrass it had emerged from, Jazz could still make out most of the turbofox's coloring. He couldn’t help but chuckle again as he realized it bore nearly same colors as him, the only difference being the red marking on the turbofox’s helm, a red V-like pattern that started from the in the middle of the bright blue optics followed the upper edges of the long audials.

Since the mechanimal was not moving, Jazz used the opportunity and took few image captures of it. Considering it was relatively big and had interesting markings Jazz was certain Beachcomber would love them. According to his friend the population of turbofoxes in Manganese Mountains had been dwindling for several decavorns and no one knew why, since there was enough prey for them not to compete with wirelions. So to see such healthy specimen was extremely rare these days.

Jazz kept his sensors trained on the turbofox as he placed the tracker deep inside a small crack in the crystal, well above the ground. Another gust of winds had his cloak fluttering and shivered, quickly pulling the hood back up.

The turbofox had not moved, when Jazz turned, which made the black and white mech frown. Was it so unused to mechs that it had no natural fear? Could that be the reason for the disappearance of the turbofoxes?

But, as Jazz stared into the blue optics -- the same shade of blue as the crystal behind him, Jazz belatedly noted -- he couldn’t help but feel that that wasn’t the case. Before the turbofox had seemed curious, but now? Now it looked upset with the long audios tilted back, flat across its helm.

Jazz fingered the stunner as the odd staring competition continued -- he really didn’t want to use it but he had to be careful.

Suddenly the turbofox's long audials moved, hiking up as if listening to something.

And then it was gone, running up the trail before the black and white frame disappeared into the tingrass.

 _Well, that was odd_ , Jazz mused, putting the stunner away.

Checking his chronometer, the black and white mech cursed.

The sun would set in a joor and it would get completely dark by then. Jazz made sure the tracker was in place before starting his descent, sensors alert as the dusk started to settle.

On his way down, Jazz’s audios caught faint rustling somewhere behind his back few times but he wrote that off, since there were several critters that started to move after the sunset but he kept his servo as close to the stunner as possible.

Unbeknownst to Jazz, he was being carefully followed.

The mechanimal kept its distance but didn’t lose the mech from its sight. The turbofox only stopped, when the black and white mech reached the camp, keen optics watching the three mechs that came to greet him. The red-striped audials lowered, when a dark blue mech with red visor reached out to rest a servo on the smaller mech’s shoulder, and the turbofox’s plating flared.

* * *

 

Soudwave removed his visor from Jazz, staring into the darkness. Something had brushed the edges of his mind, something wild but at the same time extremely intelligent. He could feel Blaster react to it as well, the other telepath swiftly turning around, blue optics flashing.

But then the presence was gone, leaving nothing behind but the the nonstop chatter of night-time mechanimals.

The dark blue mech shared a look with Blaster before both of them contacted their Cassettes. Some extra patrolling was most definitely needed for this night cycle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anyone interested in reading more about this AU?


	11. Wearing Kigurumis

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a sequel to Day 6 and an attempt of humor from my part. Some naughty things are being said at the very end.

Humans had had to a word for this sensation, Prowl was certain of it.

If there was something that the Autobot SIC had found out during these past solar cycles, it was the fact that humans _always_ had a word to describe these kinds of things and, as Prowl had very quickly learned, most of the more morbid ones were in Germany. And thanks to that fact, Huffer was a walking German dictionary these orns.

Right now Prowl wished for the cynical Minibot to be here and give him a proper word to describe what he was going through right now.

Next to him Jazz was barely contained ball of glee.

“Oh wow, look at those details, Prowler!” Jazz squealed, and Prowl turned his attention to his lover, 100% sure his audios were glitching.

The TIC of Autobot Army, the renowned head of Optimus Prime’s Spec Ops, the worst nightmare of Decepticon grunts across universe. Was. _Squealing_.

See, times like these were the reason why Prowl found himself wondering, just how he had fallen for the mech.

 _Must’ve been a moment of weakness_ , Prowl surmised dryly, optics returning to the screen as Jazz clicked yet another photo, this time of an extremely excited looking human youngling.

Nonetheless, as Prowl inspected the garment the femmeling was wearing; he had to grudgingly admit that the details on it were good. Which itself was somewhat suspicious, the doorwinged mech realized, optics narrowing. There was no way a human would’ve gotten all them correct, unless…

“Jazz.”

“Yeah, love?” Jazz replied, checking yet another kigurumi and giggling as this one mimicked Swoop of all mechs -- the suit even had the Dinobot’s helm crest!

“You wouldn’t happen to know, where the humans on this site got the idea for these?” Prowl asked, doorwings alert as he crossed his arms, squinting at the back of Jazz’s helm.

“Yeah, Ah do. Sides found pics of these suits while goin’ through the internet. He found it hilarious and showed them to Sunstreaker, who found them somewhat lackin’. So he contacted the humans and they got in some sort of agreement. Now they are makin’ these kigurumis for sale, approved by Prime himself, ya know.”

 _That_ was not what he had expected hear. “Prime has approved these?!” Prowl yelped, optics widening in mild horror as Jazz suddenly found a kigurumi that looked very much like the SIC.

“Oh, Ah want this one! “ Jazz exclaimed, eager as he leaned closer, “it looks just like ya, Prowler.”

“Why would you like to look like me?” Prowl made the mistake to ask while his battle computer was too busy to process the facts that a) Sunstreaker was earning human currency as a kigurumi designer, b) Optimus had approved it, which meant that the big mech had most likely bribed Sunstreaker and the humans to make some kind of a garment for himself as well.

Jazz turned, the visor flashing even as a sly grin spread on his faceplates. Gone was the giddy mech and in its place was a predator, who was seizing up Prowl, like he was a snack.

Prowl froze, doorwings hiked up; he knew he had walked straight into a trap in his moment of weakness -- again.

“’cause I like bein’ inside ya, Prowler,” Jazz purred, stepping away from the console and approaching the stunned mech. “Thought ya knew that already? Perhaps Ah should remind ya of that, hmm?”

Prowl did the most dignified thing he could think of at that moment; he turned around and made his escape.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you are asking, then yes  
> a) Optimus asked for a kigurumi-kinda cape with a donkey's head, very similar to Disney's Eeyore. Someone told him that they sound similar, and  
> b) Jazz followed after Prowl and showed him just how much he likes being inside his lover. And Prowl likes it just as much.


	12. Making Out

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not very explicit stuff but well, they are clearly doing something _naughty_.
> 
> ... Actually, this could be seen this as a continuation for Day 3 Gaming.

The clang of a frame being pushed against the wall echoed in the currently deserted hallway, followed by a muffled curse and a moan.

 _::Quiet, sweetspark.::_ was purred over the comm. lines even as the evil, talented hands danced across the black and white plating, the light, teasing touches setting Jazz’s fuel on fire. Then Prowl’s mouth moved upwards from his chest, leaving a trail of hot, searing kisses on his armor.

“S-slag!” the visored mech gasped and Jazz arched from the wall as Prowl kissed and nipped his neck cabling, maintaining the perfect balance between pleasure and pain.

He was holding onto the Praxian’s shoulders hard enough to dent the plating but the other mech didn’t seem to mind that at all. Jazz moaned, when Prowl leaned forward, using his bulk to press him tighter against the wall, pinning him into the much cooler metal. Squirming, Jazz spread his legs, hooking them around Prowl’s hips. He wasn’t sure if he did that in order to pull the other mech even closer or keep him from escaping; his brain module was rather busy turning itself into putty.

Nonetheless Prowl clearly approved this; there was a rev of powerful engines and the sensory panels flared up. Those were just the visible reactions. His field spiked, rippling intensely before intertwining with Jazz’s field, the lust and arousal strong enough for Jazz to shudder. The visored mech's fans whirred desperately as they tried to dispel the heat radiating from his frame.

When Prowl let go of the bruised neck, Jazz captured his lips into a needy kiss, groaning. Prowl’s pleased rumble only egged him on and Jazz reached behind the other mech’s back; his digits found one of the sensor panels, giving the metal a long stroke before pinching the edge.

The Praxian growled, engine revving again as he rolled his hips forward, their interface panels rubbing against each other. Jazz’s felt his port clench at the sound, already wet and ready for whatever Prowl had planned for him.

Charge crackled between the two mechs and someone was going to have an embarrassing accident any time soon, if this continued any further. Namely whoever was going to walk in on them.

“Shall we continue this in our rooms?” Prowl suggested with a slightly hoarse voice, optics overly bright as he watched Jazz, the open hunger in his gaze causing the other mech shiver and purr.

“Yes!”


	13. At Night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Your wishes have been heard! 
> 
> Here is a sequel for Day 10's fic. Hope it lives up to the expectation.

Jazz leaned against the edge of his desk, going through this cycle’s aerial image captures with his portable holo-projector, occasionally making some notes on his personal datapad. A half-empty cube energon sat on the desk, just out of the black and white mech's reach. He had been drinking it, when he had spotted something in the image captures, forgetting the energon in his eagerness.

Black digits drummed the desk as Jazz kept staring at one of the image captures, taken by Laserbeak early this cycle. The Cassette had flown to the crystal Jazz had placed a tracker two cycles ago and even higher after that, following the mechanimal trail deeper into the mountains. He separated the image capture from others and started to manipulate it, circling one of the biggest crystal clusters it showed. He wasn’t a crystal specialist but Jazz had sat through enough classes to know that when certain crystal clusters reached a certain width, they could easily be thousands of vorns old.

And as Jazz continued to circle the mosts bigger crystal clusters and then crossed over the smaller ones, he started to see things in the landscape, an ancient _path_ that once upon a time had been decorated with evenly planted crystals.

Excited, the mech saved the image capture before forwarding it to rest of the team.

Standing up, Jazz picked the half-empty cube before walking out from the open tent flap into the cool night air. Their camp held three tents, two of which were reserved for their telepaths and the last one was shared by Jazz and Trailbreaker, as well as a small storage trailer, where they kept their extra energon, extra power cells for the heaters in the tents and other equipment they couldn’t carry in their subspace during the travel. A small generator powered the few lights they had, giving enough light for them to walk around without the fear to stumble at night time.

Staring into the darkness outside the soft circle of light of their camp, Jazz could hear Blaster and his Cassettes in their own tent, their happy chatter filling the night air. In contrast, Soundwave’s tent was quiet but that didn’t mean anything. Jazz was certain the dark blue mech was there, going through their findings and writing first versions of their presentations. The quiet telepath’s Cassettes were most likely doing the night patrol, since the camp was so quiet.

There hadn’t been more wirelion sightings for two cycles now, thank Primus, but Blaster and Soundwave had both been rather adamant at not lowering their guard. Had Jazz known better, he would’ve thought that the two telepaths were being overly paranoid, but since these were wirelions they were speaking of, he and Trailbreaker didn’t mind some extra protection.

Speaking of his tent-mate, Jazz looked around to see, where he was. Frowning, when he didn’t spot the black mech nearby, Jazz drank the energon as he walked to the storage trailer. Trailbreaker must’ve taken a small walk around the camp to check the trails. The black and white mech picked out a small package of energon treats with gel inside, they were his guilty pleasure and Jazz never failed to bring at least dozen packages with him, when he left for excavations.

Opening the package, Jazz ate two right away, humming in delight.

He was about to head back to his tent, when his audios caught something. It differed from the usual chattering of the night creatures and as Jazz heard it again, he turned around, frantically scanning the surrounding area.

“Teebs?” he called uncertain, slowly shifting towards the tents and the more lit up area.

The swaying of the tingrass caught Jazz’s attention, ready to call for help, when a narrow helm appeared from the, bright blue optics glowing in the in the camp’s light.

Jazz nearly crumbled down on the ground, holding his chest as relief took over. “Ya have a bad habit of scarin’ mechs, lil’ fellow,” Jazz groaned, glaring a little at the slowly approaching mechanimal.

Despite the darkness, Jazz recognized quickly recognized the turbofox to be the same one he had seen up in the mountain. He tilted his helm as the mechanimal stopped, one white front paw raised as the big audials were perked up, listening.

“Still curious, Ah see,” the black and white mech hummed as he shifted, the package crinkling in his hold. “Oh sorry, didn’t mean to scare ya,” Jazz apologized, when the odd sound caused the mechanimal to crouch, tense, but it didn’t bolt away and few kliks later it relaxed again.

The blue optics looked around, most likely checking the surroundings for any threats before settling back to Jazz.

Impressed by the turbofox’s curiosity, Jazz crouched as well, putting himself on the optic level with the mechanimal. “Ya know ya shouldn’t be so curious; not all mechs are as friendly as me,” he commented, eating another energon treat.

The movement had the turbofox tensing again but it was staring at the package in Jazz’s servo, and even in the dim lights, the black and white mech could see the twitching olfactory sensors. Well, that might explain the mechanimal’s curiosity.

After the first sightings they had theorized that it was just not their smell but also the smell of the energon that attracted the wirelions so close to their camp. Ravage had half-confirmed that theory before pointing out that the wirelions were most likely interested in having new prey in their territory.

And, as Jazz watched the turbofox move even closer, he was certain that it was the same case with the smaller predator.

Knowing it was most likely a bad idea and might well leave him with pricked digits, Jazz pulled out one treat, a perfect little pink cube. Carefully, the mech held it on the tip of his digits and offered it towards the turbofox.

He had expected this move would finally scare the turbofox away but instead the mech witnessed a visible change in the mechanimal:

Gone was the wariness as the marked audios perked up, pointed towards Jazz, twitching visibly. The black and white plating ruffled outwards, making the turbofox look even fluffier, especially the long tail. But what surprised the mech most was the bright fire that lit up those bright blue optics, the piercing, _intelligent_ gaze staring right into Jazz’s spark.

Mechanimals didn’t have EM fields, not in the same sense as mechs did but at that very moment Jazz could swear that he was hit by an extremely strong, ancient field, unlike anything Jazz had ever felt. He gasped, nearly dropping the treat as whispers of feelings, of excitement and longing washed over Jazz’s frame.

 _~At last~_ a deep, unfamiliar voice whispered inside his mind, sounding so relieved that it almost hurt to hear.

“JAZZ!” Blaster’s shout rang through the night, startling Jazz enough to lose his balance and he ended up on his aft on the ground.

The red telepath stumbled out of his tent, and Soundwave wasn’t far behind, the red visor bleached pale pink in worry. The turbofox’s long audials flattened, nearly touching the helm and its plating flared up again at the yell but this time it was a sign of annoyance. The energon treat was grabbed from Jazz’s digits and the mechanimal disappeared into the night.  

Jazz stared into the darkness, stunned.

 _What_ the frag had just happened?!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And thus the plot thickens...
> 
> I also changed the number of mechs that greeted Jazz, when he returned to the camp. So the members of this group are Jazz, Blaster, Soundwave and then we have the Cassettes: Eject, Rewind, Steeljaw, Ravage, Laserbeak, Buzzsaw, Frenzy and Rumble. 
> 
> I left Ratbat and Ramhorn on purpose.


	14. Eating Ice Cream

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The return of the nobles! :D

As the First Heir of the House of Nightfall, Jazz’s gone through several joors of practice on how to control his expressions, frame and field. In the world of nobles, showing one’s true feelings was like balancing on a tightrope, sometimes even one’s own home (luckily, House of Nightfall was not one of those but it didn’t mean the members of Jazz’s family weren’t masters in the games the nobles played).

But as the Polyhexian noble kept watching Prowl, Jazz found it suddenly exceptionally hard to hold back his laughter.

There was another minute quiver of those rather gorgeous sensory panels, followed by the quietest tinkle as the decorations Prowl had chosen for today shifted, precious red gems sparkling in the lights. His optics had dimmed, not quite completely offline but enough that in some other circles such action would’ve deemed as a very rude gesture, and there was a small, delighted on the Praxian’s lips. The normally controlled field fluttered, and Jazz could feel the other noble’s amazement in it.

He had never thought that the simple, Kaonian dish would draw out such interesting reactions from his normally so solemn betrothed.

“Is this the first time you have tasted this, Prowler?” Jazz asked, only to curse himself inwardly, when the Praxian mech stiffened, field withdrawing and his expression schooled into the serious expression, he wore most of the time.

“Yes, my lord,” Prowl replied evenly, nodding. “I have not - Kaonian cuisine isn’t that common in Praxus,” he explained, as if he had done something bad because he had enjoyed the sweet, frozen dessert.

It was a taught habit, Jazz had learned. The Polyhexian noble had realized very soon into their courting that Prowl was extremely determined to make sure they would bond. The way he honored each rule placed into the courtship these past vorns only confirming it. So each time Prowl did something he deemed as inappropriate, he would clamp down, retreat into the lessons drilled into him.

Just like now, outwardly the Praxian projected the perfect image of a noble, calm and poised with a false mask hiding the embarrassment Jazz was certain Prowl was experiencing. It was a little sad.

“My betrothed, your behavior did not insult me,” Jazz said softly, reaching closer to place a reassuring servo on Prowl’s, allowing his field brush with the other mech’s, soothing and apologizing. “I merely asked, since it was clear that you found the dessert enjoyable,” he continued, black digits squeezing the white ones as he met Prowl’s gaze.

With each passing cycle they had grown bolder with physical touches but there were times, when the simple action of hand holding would bring most comfort to them.

Slowly, his betrothed relaxed and while Prowl didn’t smile, his field uncoiled, brushing against Jazz’s. “It was, my lord, it was wonderful,” he revealed, squeezing the black digits gently.

“I am glad to hear that,” Jazz said and picked up the delicate spoon. Scooping a small bite of the sky blue dessert, he offered it to the Praxian noble.

This close, he could sense the slight flicker of awkwardness in Prowl’s field before a small, shy smile appeared on his handsome faceplates. It was a sight Jazz would treasure forever. And when Prowl parted his lips, Jazz carefully fed him, trilling gently. Prowl actually offlined his optics this time and allowed a pleased purr escape from him as he swallowed the quickly melting dessert.

Jazz’s smile could’ve outshone the sun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know that in the first chapter Prowl seemed a slightly more relaxed, expressing his frustration and excitement, while in this one he seems more reserved. There are few reasons for that, one of them being that we are seeing things from Jazz's point of view, who as a higher ranking and much older noble has been playing games with the elite longer, while Prowl is younger as well as a third creation. He is still afraid that he will somehow mess things up and the bonding will be called off. And while it would cause some level of scandal among nobles, it's not the reason why Prowl tries his best; he happens likes Jazz very much and really wants to be with him.


	15. Injured

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Details of mechs being killed. Wars are nasty stuff. 
> 
> Happens in bayverse.

The battle was particularly brutal this time. The Decepticons kept sending more troops at them, making it near impossible to retreat. Shouted commands, explosions and gunfire filled the audios to the point of pain and the ground was slick with fluids, empty shells and pieces of blown up mechs. He and his team had been pinned down into a small trench, ripped into the very surface of Cybertron only joors ago, when the Seekers had flown over them, releasing their cargos of bombs.

 _::This is Silver Leader to Command Centre, where is our aerieal support?:_ Jazz growled into one line while issuing his orders through another to the still alive members of his team. _::Come in Command Centre, Ah ain’t requestin’ that backup for slag and giggles.::_

“INCOMING!” somebody hollered, and Jazz swore as another wave of Decepticons hit them.

Snarling, Jazz let blades slide out of his forearms and he was out of the trench, slashing open a Decepticon’s throat. The mech fell down, shouting wetly as they hold onto their cut fuel lines but Jazz didn’t even pause, already finishing another one. Some of the Decepticons wavered, when they realized just who their opponent was, a reaction that Jazz ruthlessly used to his advantage. The silvery mech killed without a hesitation, his frame moving in like some twisted version of a dance, bending and sliding on the ground.

Even as he cut down his enemies, Jazz kept his sensors on his teammates, keeping them from stranding too far - they weren’t Spec. Ops. so Jazz fought even harder to keep them alive.

 _::Silver Leader, this is Command Centre, aerial support are on their way. What is your status?::_ a smooth voice spoke through the open comm. lines.

 _::Four mechs down. Our last location was to the south-east of the frontline but we are bein’ pushed forward. Decepticons are surroundin’ us. They are herdin’ us towards them.::_ Jazz provided the information even as he sank his claws into the back of a massive black and green Decepticon, climbing up the frame lightning fast.

The huge mech snarled and cursed Jazz as he to wrench the Autobot off his back, blunt digits wrapping around a thin pede, squeezing the plating. Ignoring the alarms inside his HUD, Jazz trapped the Decepticon’s helm between his palms and released magnetic pulses right into the mech’s processor. The mech screamed in binary, plating rattling as the huge frame jerked violently before starting to crumble down.

Somersaulting off the dying Decepticon’s back, Jazz snarled:

_::What the frag is takin’ so long, Prowl? Am losing mechs here!::_

There was a soft, warning rumble from the other end of the comm. line. _::The Command Centre was under attack. There are casualities.::_ came the clipped reply but the sub-harmonics gave out the mech’s exhaustion and… pain?

The silvery mech’s digits clenched, plating flaring up even as his field spiked with anger. _::Are ya hurt?::_

_::Silver Leader, aerial support will be inbound in two breems. Pull your team together and head for north.::_

_::Prowl!::_ Jazz barked, faceplates twisted into a dark snarl even as he relied the information to his team.

 _::… Thundercracker surprised us and the bombing took out one of my pedes.::_ Prowl replied tersely.

A deep, terrifying growl resonated through the battlefield, loud and clear despite the bombs going off nearby. The sound was something primal, dark and dangerous that the oncoming Decepticons halted. They had been wary before but now? Now they were terrified.

When the backup reached the battlefield, they noted the Command Centre that Silver Leader was gone. The surviving members of Team Silver reported that they had been given orders to leave the battle. When they had been demanded to explain their decision to leave their leader alone, identical haunted looks had appeared on the battered soldiers’ faces.

“We were given our orders, we were _told_ to follow them,” one of them whispered, refusing to say more.

** ** **

Four joors later, when the sun had long set down and the heat of the battle had cooled down, a mech detached itself from the shadows. Scaling up the protecting walls, he was careful not to drop his cargo as he climbed on top of the tall structure before entering the damaged fortress. Unnoticed, the silver mech moved through the halls, heading towards the Command Centre.

Prowl paid no attention to the commotion that suddenly started behind him; the tall mech was glaring at the damage reports from the earlier battle. Sitting on a hoverchair, Prowl’s sensor panels shifted, spreading slightly, when a familiar field nudged his, followed by a gentle nuzzling on the back of his helm. They stayed like that for a long time, silently reassuring each other, and slowly the slightly spooked up mechs and femmes around them relaxed, returning back to their duties.

“Prime wants an explanation,” he calmly informed the other, when felt Jazz’s servo on his right thigh, the claws careful as they touched the stump there. “Ratchet will replace my pede as soon as he can,” Prowl reassured Jazz, grabbing the wayward servo and squeezing it gently.

“Brought ya souvenir,” Jazz spoke finally, quiet but the way he said those words had Prowl suspicious.

Yellow optics narrowed as the silver mech stepped properly into his sight, taking in the scratches and dried fluids covering Jazz’s armor. “I see you didn’t stop by the washracks on your way here,” Prowl commented lightly.

Jazz’s field rippled with amusement even as he removed the smooth pieces of metal that had been attached to his back. Dropping them on the floor with a clang! loud enough to startle the mechs and femmes all around the Command Centre, more than one set of blasters whining in the now quiet room. Prowl gave a flat look to Jazz, who was looking rather proud of himself.

On the floor between the two mechs laid Thundercracker’s wing plating.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WOOP WOOP, AM HALF WAY DONE PEOPLE!


	16. During their morning ritual(s)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Optimus has no idea just how long Jazz has been protecting his aft, Primus chosen or not.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let's have something fun after yesterday's mild angst, eh?

Mechs often thought Prowl was an early bird (once again a word the humans had come up and the Autobots found absolutely hilarious but so accurate) but they were wrong. _Dead_ wrong.

Sure, be it dead of the night or crack of dawn, Prowl was up and carrying on his duties the moment his shift started but before that? That was another story.

“C’mon Prowler.”

“Mmmh.”

“Sweetspark, Ah’m not feeling my pedes.”

There was small movement but not enough for Jazz to get away. Oh, he could get away, if he really wanted to but that was completely beside the point. Rolling his optics, Jazz moved his pedes into a more comfortable position, stretching them.

The sleepy, grumbling weight on his chest frowned, clearly not impressed at having his mattress shift and that annoyance was highlighted with a slow but definitely rude flick of doorwings, which made Jazz snort.

What he once had thought as a cute quirk had lost its charm around two million vorns ago, give or take.

“Ya know you hafta get up soon,” Jazz pointed out, fingers tapping the berth.

The doorwings fluttered again before relaxing. “Hrmmh.”

“Not mah fault we ended up in a planet with so short solar cycle.”

There was another grumble and the arms around Jazz tightened their hold.

“And it’s not mah fault either that Prime has ordered us to follow the local units of time.”

Another grumble and this time it was followed by a lazy flutter of those lovely sensory panels and Jazz choked, engine revving in outrage.

“No! Ya cannot overthrow the fragging Prime because ya want to recharge longer! _Slag it Prowl, we had this conversation just yesterday!_ ”


	17. Spooning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Today's fic is short, very VERY short because I've been suffering from a headache most of the day and this was the only thing I managed to write. Thought short fic is better than nothing.

If there was something both Jazz and Prowl found equally arousing in each other, it was their bumpers. But those said bumpers didn’t come without any problems, which they quickly noticed.

Because spooning with bumpers was hard.

 _Really_ hard.

But it didn’t stop them, nope.

To properly spoon each other they made plans, they ran some simulations (well, Jazz had, Prowl had given him a nonplussed look after finding the other mech’s calculations but then he had just kissed his embarrassed lover, touched by Jazz’s determination) and they even tried partial transformation.

Spooning with bumpers was hard.

But Jazz and Prowl loved the challenge.


	18. Doing Something Together (Dark Themes)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The original prompt had this added to it "this can be anything from watching tv to having sex. Just remember to tag appropriately"
> 
> So tag I will.
> 
>  **WARNINGS:** Aftermath of torture, actual torture in form of mental assault. Dark!Prowl and dark!Jazz. Really, they are not nice in this one. If you do not want to read, skip this chapter please.

He slowly came out from the stasis, inwardly wincing as the HUD was suddenly lit up with warnings.

_[Energy levels: 15%. Auxiliary energy systems: Offline. Forced emergency shutdown: One joor.]_

_[Frame mobility: 30,5%. Override commands: Y/N._

_[Unable to connect. Neural connection: Disrubted. Scanning. Scanning...]_

_[Audial systems: Online. Damage: 11%]_

Oh he could hear. That was good. Slowly he started to make out something, first it was the white noise but soon he started to make distinctive sounds. Someone was speaking and - no.

There were -- had been -- two of them, he remembered that.

“ -- is romantic, ain’t it?”

There was a quiet, almost inaudible snort. “Hardly.”

“But we are doin’ this together, right? Can’t remember th’ las time we did somethin’ like this,” the first mech spoke cheerfully, which made his field crawl with uneasiness.

Where was he? What had happened? He had been making his way through the halls and suddenly pain had erupted on his back, followed by claws sinking into his throat and, and --

Memories flooded his HDU as his processor finished booting up, making him inhale sharply, frame jarring. A surge of pain followed the movement, agony surging through the crippled frame and his visual feed was working again.

The sound of vents overworking filled the dark room -- _prison_ , his memories supplied the mech -- and his sudden onlining hadn’t gone unnoticed.

“Oh, our guest has woken up again,” one of the mech’s purred eagerly but somehow managing to make it sound sinister, “about time, we were getting’ bored.”

“You were,” the second mech corrected out, his even tone a complete opposite, and he shuddered as those icy optics landed on him, burning with such fury that his battle programming screamed at him to curl up and hide.

A distressed sound escaped from somewhere within his frame and now he could understand why the neural connectors were failing; there were no limbs to connect with. His chassis was strapped onto a berth, chest plates were pried open and faint sparklight was glimmering in the dark room.

Even as horror sank its hooks into him, more memories flooded his CPU; the mission, everything had been going smoothly for so long now, nobody had suspected anything. He had been so close completing his mission, the plan to assassinate the - the…

A servo was slammed right next to his helm, the move so sudden and unexpected that he startled, engine whining in distress as those cold, cold optics were there, staring down into him.

“ _You_ ,” the mech hissed quietly and one quick moment there was this terrifying hate that twisted the handsome faceplates into an ugly sneer. “Did you _honestly_ think that we didn’t know _what_ you were doing? _What_ you are? We knew, we have been watching you the moment you put your pede in here.” The sensory panels spread, rising and covering the dim prison lights, the only thing illuminating the mech’s face was the wildly thrashing sparklight. “Filthy ‘con,” he spat before slowly pulling back, face once again schooled into a mask of indifference.

There was a low, amused chuckle that floated through the air. Normally he would’ve found the sound pleasing, maybe even arousing, but right now? Now it sounded like the bells of his death.

“My mech, ya really have rattled Prowl’s cage here,” the visored mech commented, coming closer and leaning against the berth as he grinned pleasantly down at the tied Decepticon. “Ya see, he really doesn’t like infiltrators. Especially ones that are planning on murdering th’ Prime.” Sharp, clawed digits tapped the mech’s forehelm. “But ya know, should thank ya; it’s been a while since we got to do this together”, he hummed, sounding honest to Primus grateful. “So now that ya have had yar rest, how about we really start?” The grin grew wider, sharp and all teeth. “Ya first, Prowler,” Jazz purred darkly.

The Decepticon jerked, optics bleached pale pink, when the panel on his side was ripped open and he realized that Prowl had used his distraction, circling the berth to get the access to the ports there. The icy mech ignored the weak trashing of their prisoner, efficiently plugging in, pushing aside the weak attempts of defense before brutally breaking through the Decepticon’s firewalls.

 _::I got you::_ Prowl’s voice whispered inside the battered mech’s processor, spreading his presence all over the Decepticon’s mind, drowning him.

A desperate shriek echoed in the prison.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been wanting to write something like this for some time now. Just hope I managed to convey the Decepticon's fear and anxiety properly and it didn't come out as, well, too edgy.


	19. In Formal Wear

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sequel to Day 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh look, more of the barbarian!AU! :D

“Stop moving, sweetling,” Bluestreak ordered sternly, only to burst in laughter, when not one, but two of his sparklings automatically froze at the command. “Not you, Silver, was talking to your older brother, who really should stop moving, unless he wants me to accidentally poke a hole in his doorwings. And we wouldn’t want that now would we, Prowl? To call Ratchet and tell him you’ve got a hole in your sensor panels, because you couldn’t stay still for one breem?”

“No carrier,” Prowl replied, the said doorwings tilting downwards, sheepish.

Silverstreak, who had been building little towers with a set of blocks, giggled a little at that, his attention now drawn to the adults. The youngling’s sensor panels, much smaller than theirs, wiggled in excitement as he watched Bluestreak attach the last clasp before stepping back. “You look so pretty, Prowl,” Silverstreak said, golden optics wide as he climbed up to his feet, darting closer to admire Prowl.

“Thank you, Silverstreak,” the black and white mech said with a small smile.

The youngling raised his arms and Prowl didn’t hesitate for a second to pick him up. He wasn’t surprised, when Silverstreak leaned closer to inspect the glyph their carrier had painted on Prowl’s right cheek, careful not to touch it.

There were even more glyphs all over Prowl’s frame, all of them prayers and wishes for the future, all painted in the same, expensive gold paint. Bluestreak had started painting them on Prowl’s frame early in the morning, moments before the sunrise. The original plan had been to start a little later but after watching Prowl toss and turn in the bedding most of the night, Bluestreak had decided to take a pity on his eldest and told him that they could start the preparation earlier.

While they had waited for the paint to dry, Bluestreak had taken care of the just awoken Silverstreak, wrapping a pure white loincloth with silver embroidery around the little mech's waist once he was done with the morning energon.

Once he was sure that Silverstreak was occupied with his toys, Bluestreak had pulled out two pieces fabrics, dyed in dark blue. One of them was easily twice as long as Prowl was tall and they were decorated with beautiful, gold embroidery and small crystals. Together the two adults wrapped the larger fabric around Prowl’s frame, covering his waist and one end falling over his left shoulder. Next came out jewelry; gold bracelets for arms and clasps that were used to attach the second fabric onto the base of Prowl’s doorwings, trailing behind him.

As Bluestreak watched the two brothers, his precious sparklings, he couldn’t help but feel a pang of sadness in his spark. _I wish you’d be here to see this, dear_ , he thought, mourning for the loss of his mate for a fraction before pushing it aside.

“Could you bring Silverstreak here, Prowl?” Bluestreak asked, turning around to rummage through one of his baskets. Picking out a pair of wide silver bracelets, Bluestreak turned to find himself the subject of two pair of questioning optics, different in color but with same intensity.

“What?” Bluestreak asked, confused.

“Why haven’t you dressed, carrier? If you don’t hurry, we’ll be late, and Jazz will be upset, if we are late,” Silverstreak said, forehead wrinkling as he was clearly worried, and Prowl nodded, agreeing with the youngling, although he was grinning a little.

“Silverstreak’s right, carrier, you need to dress up as well, otherwise we’ll be late,” Prowl pointed, field pulsing with amusement.

Shaking his helm, Bluestreak reached to poke them in the middle of chevron, first his eldest and then his youngest.

“Brats,” he gently scolded them, grinning widely as Silverstreak giggled and even Prowl smiled.

* * *

Almost every member of the two clans sat in a large circle, the low murmurs of conversation floating in the air as they waited. All of them were dressed to their finest to celebrate the occasion, especially the members of Rainsong clan; nearly everyone of that particular clan was wearing their chosen colors; copper, cream and pale blue. While Swiftwing clan hadn’t coordinated their colors, they had put extra effort on the decals and jewels that decorated their doorwings and wings.

The fragile notes rising from a single flute signaled that the ceremony was about to start and the conversations cut short, all of their attention drawn to the two small groups approaching from opposite directions. From the north came Prowl of Swiftwing, accompanied by his creator and younger brother, and from the south came Jazz of Rainsong with his brother.

Two more flutes joined the first one as well as harps, filling the air with music, when the two groups stopped when they reached the middle of the circle.

Prowl knew he was nervous as he passed the mechs and femmes, the only thing that stopped him from visibly trembling were the gentle pulses of Bluestreak’s field, the reassuring presence of his carrier calming him just enough. Silverstreak’s bubbling curiosity was also a distraction, Prowl could sense the fluttering of the youngling’s doorwings with his own as the little mech tried to take in everything around them.

Despite that, Prowl nearly stumbled, when he got his first proper look of Jazz, spark flaring.

He also had glyphs painted on his frame in the pale blue of his clan. For the ceremony Jazz was wearing a two layered loincloth made from cream and copper colored fabrics and was tied with white sash that had little bells attached to the ends. In his arms were several thin bracelets, tinkling together as he walked and around Jazz's neck was a crystal decorated necklace. Around his shoulders was wrapped Prowl’s courting gift, the little crystals attached in the blue shawl glinting in the sunlight.

All in all he looked absolutely stunning, and this time Prowl couldn’t stop the mild tremble of his doorwings as he offered his servos to Jazz. He knew he was smiling, nervous but happy, and as Jazz took hold of the white servos, Prowl could feel the exactly same from the other mech’s field.

“You look so beautiful,” Prowl whispered even as the chiefs of their clans stood up and started the ceremony, optics glowing as he took in all the details, imprinting them to his memory.

“And ya are even more beautiful than Ah could’ve imagined, Prowler,” he whispered back, squeezing Prowl’s servos. “Ya ready for this?” Jazz asked, bells tinkling as he shifted.

Prowl nodded, doorwings flaring in a way that had some of the members of Swiftwing snicker and nod approvingly. “I’ve wanted this so long, Jazz. I’ve been ready for seasons. I love you.”

A quiet chuckle escaped from the other mech as he squeezed Prowl’s servos again. “I love ya too, Prowl.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you want to know, I've based Silverstreak's colors with Prowl's bayverse version. Otherwise he looks pretty much the same as Prowl and Bluestreak do. Don't ask me who the sire was, just assume that he was a mech with doorwings and had very similar colors as Bluestreak and Prowl have. And yes, Swiftwing Clan is mixed clan of fliers and mechs/femmes with doorwings. 
> 
> Prowl's outift is supposed to mimic a sari. Not sure, if I managed to convey that through the text.
> 
> Maybe next part will tell us about their "wedding" night or something else.


	20. Dancing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just love how my ability to write things goes up and down and up and down. *sighs*

“You haven’t forgotten a thing, I see.”

“How could I? Those lessons I was put through? They have been seared into my memory banks.”

A low chuckle was heard. “At least you weren’t expected to present your whole House with every step you took.”

“You made it look so easy back then, the way you danced and moved. The nobles were envious of you. _I_ was envious of you.”

“You were? That’s amusing.”

“Why is that?” the other asked, suspicious but field bubbling with happiness.

“Because I attempted to impress you, not cause envy.”

The visor brightened even as surprise spread on Jazz’s field. “Ya speaking the truth?” he asked, slipping back to the much rougher dialect that hid all traces of the once First Heir.

“I am,” Prowl confirmed as he dipped the smaller mech, maintaining the lilt the Praxian nobles once were famous of.

“Well slag me, Prowler, Ah never knew that.”

Prowl smirked a little as he pulled Jazz up.

The two mechs shared a secretive smile as they kept dancing in the dark rec. room, following the soft tunes of a bygone era.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Strictly saying this isn't a continuation to the noble!AU despite it sharing same things but if you want to read it as one, you are free to do so. :)


	21. Cooking

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A pampered celebrity arrives into the restaurant and demands rather rudely for VIP service. Or does he? There's more than meets the eye in the situation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I may or may have not just googled few of the desserts and dishes they've prepared in Masterchef Australia. Nope, not at all.

“Oh no, nononononoooo~.”

Prowl’s doorwings flicked the barest amount, when he registered Sideswipe’s rather upset mutterings and fluctuating field but didn’t otherwise acknowledge it; what he was currently doing needed all his attention, the thin, fragile threads of gold had to be placed just so on the plate without accidentally tearing them apart.

“Prowl! We have a proble -- !” the sous chef hissed but was quick to quiet down, when the Praxian lifted the doorwings while spreading them wide, sending a rather telling message to the other mech.

Only once he had put last pieces to the dessert, Prowl stepped back, giving his creation a critical look.

Sideswipe, despite nearly vibrating in his place, couldn’t help but admire yet another master piece the head chef had created.

The several thin gold threads were spun in a half dome on the plate, creating a glittering but easily breakable web around three white, oblong shaped pastries. Sideswipe knew the puffs looked simple but that was only the outside, since on the inside the pastries were three different layers of flavors as well as a soft, gooey middle. It was one of the most famous desserts on their menu and there were only four mechs on whole planet that could create them.

Nodding, Prowl let a nearby waiter pick up the plate and he inspected the dishes Skids and Getaway were preparing before he turned his attention to Sideswipe. “You have three kliks before I need to start preparing for the table 30’s order,” the Praxian mech calmly informed Sideswipe, arms crossed over his chest.

Sideswipe didn’t need any more prompting, the dam breaking and he was babbling faster than Bluestreak on a good day.

“The Meister just got in!”

The black and white mech blinked, unsure of who Sideswipe was talking about before vaguely remembering Bluestreak telling him about this new singer that had suddenly become a planet-wide celebrity. He had heard some of his songs from the but hadn’t really paid that much attention to them besides finding them rather pleasing.

“Bumblebee didn’t spot the paparazzi until they were blocking the front door and it was like acid storm out there, lights flashing so hard he got nearly blinded! Mirage naturally offered them the best table but his manager said that they want something more private so he gave them the Blue Room and he’s taking the order but Mirage commed me and said that Meister wants you to cook for him personally, ignore the rest of the orders. The manager even paid in advance to make that happen.”

As Prowl listened to him, a frown appeared on his faceplates and it deepened as the red mech kept going, clearly rattled by the demand. “I presume Mirage informed that that it is not our policy to treat guests differently, no matter who they are?” Prowl asked evenly, looking only a little crossed, although Sideswipe knew his boss better and had learned to read the proper signs over the vorns they had worked together.

Simply put, the Praxian chef was on his way to be royally fragged off.

“You bet he did,” Sidewipe nodded, grimacing a little, “but it seems that didn’t deter the manager and -- “

The doors of the kitchen opened and in glided Mirage, the restaurant’s _maître d'_ , who had the barest of sneer on his elegant faceplates, a sight that had Sideswipe whispering a slightly awed “oh slag”. The red sous chef couldn’t even remember the last time a customer had managed to make Mirage show anything but the polite, professional smile he wore at the restaurant.

“There’s a… _gentlemech_  demanding to meet the head chef,” Mirage informed, sounding nothing but proper but his sub-harmonics spoke of a different tale.

Prowl, who by now was scowling, turned back to his work station and started to work on his next order. “Please inform our guest that I am currently rather busy. We have a tables waiting for their orders and we will serve them as soon as we can,” he informed, picking up a cooking knife from the rack.

“Very well and what if he doesn’t comply?” Mirage asked, nodding.

“Then we shall have Sunstreaker and Bluestreak lead them out of the door,” Prowl continued with a flick of doorwings, which marked it as the end of the discussion. This was his restaurant and these were his rules, and Prowl had no problems with throwing people out of the door, if it came to that. He had the skills and name to do so. No pampered celebrity would change that.

Sideswipe left with Mirage, saying that he would go and find Sunstreaker and Bluestreak. Nodding, Prowl gave his full attention to the dinner he was preparing, trusting his sous chef and _maître d'_ to be able to handle the situation. Smiling slightly, Prowl started assembling the dish, picking up a flat bowl from the shelf. First came the bright blue energon, which he poured into thin layer on the bottom. Then he placed purified tingrass stalks on top of the energon. Satisfied with the look of the dish so far, Prowl then added the grilled and stuffed aluminumsquid, cut in four slices, on the plate.

Checking on Skids and Getaway’s dishes, Prowl nodded as he found them satisfactory and he send them all out with Bumblebee.

The Praxian chef turned to clean his station before moving onto a different dish, only to startle when he found a strange mech in _his_ kitchen. “Who are you?” Prowl asked, doorwings hiking up in shock and irritation, “please leave the kitchen before I call the security.”

The clear blue visor brightened in what Prowl guessed to be surprise and the mech quickly raised his servos. “Whoa, no need for to do that,” he told, sounding slightly alarmed. “Ah was sent here to apologize in Meister’s behalf,” the mech rushed to explain, “he had no idea what that sleaze of a manager was doing.”

Prowl’s optics narrowed in suspicion, already comming Sunstreaker. “And how would you know that?” he asked, giving the mech a good look from helm to pedes.

The design of his frame was definitely Polyhexian origins but it had been clearly updated and somewhat recently. The expensive finish had the black and white frame -- what kind of coincident was that, Prowl mused for a nanosecond -- shining in the kitchen’s bright lights, the quality telling that the mech at least had the credits for a nice wax, if nothing else. He did look rather attractive, Prowl had to admit, as the mech grinned disarmingly at him.

“Ah’m Meister’s helper, so to speak,” he explained, lowering his servos, “anyway, Swindle is no longer gonna bother ya. Meister booted his aft as soon as he found out what had happened. Anyway, he sent me here to ask, if it’s alright to still make an order? Please? Meister has wanted to visit yer restaurant ever since he read th’ article from few decacycles ago. Th’ one where ya presented yer newest recipe, the one called Pearl on the Ocean Floor.”

Prowl’s doorwings lowered slightly, the sincerity in the mech’s voice sounding honest.

 _::Sorry Prowl, we have just escorted the manager out of the restaurant::_ Sunstreaker chose the moment reply, getting straight to the point as always. _::The rest of the group are waiting for Meister himself to end an important business call to find a new manager or whatever slag. He has currently locked himself in the empty office and these mechs refuse to budge, until their boss is done. Shall I break down the door and drag him out?::_

Taking a moment to make the decision, Prowl took another look of the stranger. He could be lying but then again, the story he was giving matched with the one Sunstreaker had just provided him. Not to mention the rather pleading expression the mech was giving to Prowl reminded the Praxian of Bluestreak, when the younger mech really wanted something.

 _::… No, please inform them that Meister can return to the Blue Room, if he still wants and the kitchen will serve him as soon as we can.::_ Prowl told Sunstreaker.

Whatever Sunstreaker might’ve thought at this sudden change of orders, he kept it to himself. _::Alright.::_ he replied shortly before ending the comm.

“I’ve been informed that what you’re telling is the truth, so I’ve decided to accept the apology,” Prowl said, and he raised a browplate, when the visored mech let out a small “woop!” at hearing his words.

“Thank ya so much! Ya’ll be making him happier than ya can never guess,” he voiced earnestly his gratitude and suddenly thrust his servo forward. “Th’ name’s Jazz, by the way,” the mech, Jazz, introduced himself, flashing Prowl with a wide, charming smile.

The head chef slowly took the offered servo, squeezing it. “Head chef Prowl, which you already knew, I presume,” he pointed out with a wry grin, which had Jazz laughing bashfully.

“Yeah, Ah knew that but Ah’ve wanted to meet ya so long now,” he admitted, scratching one audio horn sheepishly, an action Prowl was surprised to find a little endearing. “Ah guess Ah’ll go and tell Meister the good news then. Uh, sorry about entering th’ kitchen without a permission, Ah was rather desperate to get ya before we got thrown out.”

Prowl’s earlier annoyance flared slightly and he fixed the other mech a stern gaze. “I see. If you decide to dine here again, please refrain from doing so. I have a sous chef, who doesn’t mind using the knives on trespassers.” Prowl watched the visor brighten as Jazz’s jaw dropped slightly and he couldn’t help but grin slightly.

“Yer joking, right?” Jazz asked, suddenly glancing nervously at the knives placed neatly on the rack.

“When it comes to my kitchen, I never joke,” Prowl informed, doorwings sweeping regally back. “Now then, please return to the Blue Room so that Mirage can take your order,” the Praxian mech advised the other as he pointed at the door.

“Yeah, Ah’ll - Ah’ll be going now,” Jazz agreed, visor still on the knives but before leaving he gave Prowl one last smile before quickly scurrying out of the door.

Shaking his helm, Prowl returned back to his duties. It wasn’t until the dirty dishes were carried back from the Blue Room that he was interrupted yet again:

“There’s a message for you, boss,” Bumblebee told Prowl, offering a small message cube to the head chef.

Confused, Prowl accepted the message cube, activating it.

 _Thank so much for an amazing meal! Pearl of the Ocean was even better than I had expected! Hope to visit your restaurant soon again._  
_-J_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gee, I wonder, why Meister sent Jazz to the kitchen while he locked himself into an office? Hmmm??? *grins*


	22. Gazing Into Each Other’s Eyes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jazz is a mischievous little fragger who plans roughly ten steps before you do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AM BACK IN BUSINESS.

Having a visor gave Jazz more than few advances during the battle; he had a wider field of view, his visor could switch between normal light, filter UV lights and use infrared. But one of Jazz most favorite things was that he could watch Prowl without getting detected.

Most of the time.

“Stop that.”

“Ahm not doin’ anything,” Jazz grinned.

Prowl lifted his gaze from the datapad he had been reading, the golden optics narrowed as he gave Jazz a _look_.

The silvery mech grinned, unashamed, as he slouched on the chair on the other side of Prowl’s desk. He was facing the giant screens on the wall, supposedly watching the security feed there and not the mech on his right.

“Jazz,” Prowl rumbled, a warning.

“Prowl,” the said mech shot right back, turning around to face the bigger one, leaning onto the desk with his elbows. His visor, bright blue instead of the pale violet he once had, gleamed as Jazz readjusted the settings and this close Prowl could most likely just about see the circuitry underneath it.

“You are distracting me,” Prowl informed, arms crossed over his chest as he leaned back in his chair, putting distance between them but he never once broke the optic contact.

“Really?” Jazz asked, his grin only widening and the audial horns tilted back slightly as his engine purred, tempting.

“I should have you escorted out of my office,” the black and white mech huffed, this time leaning forward as well, palms resting on the desk.

They were close now, nasal ridges almost touching.

“What is my crime, officer?” Jazz inquired, field flaring and reaching to caress Prowl’s as he stared into the golden, intelligent gaze of his lover.

A traitorous fan clicked, starting to spin just a tad faster. “I already told you, you are distracting me.”

“Really?” the silvery mech purred, leaning even closer.

“Really,” Prowl said, sensor panels trembling before he closed the distance between them, groaning as Jazz’s field flared with smugness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know bayverse!Jazz had optics under his visor in the movie but I like the idea of him having only a visor.


	23. In Battle, Side-By-Side

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ehhhhh, despite my efforts this story didn't come out as badass as I had hoped, when I started this challenge. *shrugs*

Optimus Prime had seen and taken part in many battles (too many) that he had gotten a rather clear picture on how his closest subordinates fought.

Ironhide was often thought to be a brute with firepower enough to level cities. That wasn’t the truth. The Prime knew that Ironhide was more, that he was an ancient, cunning warrior, who wore that mask others had given to him, using it to his advantage.

Opposite to Ironhide was Ratchet, whose actions showed the internal battle inside the old medic, which saddened Optimus. His main function was to care, to heal but now he was doing opposite to that. So he killed with mercy; each shot, strike or punch was clearly thought, clinical and deadly. If Ratchet had to kill, he left no suffering behind.

Then there were Jazz and Prowl, who as individuals, were like the day and night.

Jazz perfected the art of saboteur and assassin, moving in and out of the shadows with a charming smile, leaving trail of cold frames behind him. To see his cheerful friend tangle himself deeper and deeper in the darkness made the Prime worry for Jazz’s spark.

Prowl was efficient, shortly put. He analyzed his opponents, finding their weak spots before decimating them as quickly as possible.

But when those two were put on the same battlefield, at the same time?

Combining the cold, calculating Prowl with the charisma and deadly Jazz? The results he reaped from that decision would haunt Optimus’ spark but at the same time he knew the facts.

 _Optimus_ needed them, _Autobots_ needed them to win the war.


	24. Arguing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sad stuff, ahoy!

“This is ridiculous. You know it’s more rational for me to go with him.”

“Rational? Yeah sure, it’s rational that th’ second in command of th’ whole Autobot army up and leaves th’ troops without proper chain of command.”

The field, that had been tightly controlled to hide Prowl’s internal turmoil, lashed out, crashing into Jazz’s as the bigger mech leaned closer, engine revving. “If you leave, it will cripple not our whole Special Operations but as well as our Intelligence Operations and -- “

“Ah’ve trained my mechs to function without me from first orn Ah recruited them,” Jazz interjected calmly, his whole being the very definition of icy willpower in contrast to Prowl’s boiling emotions. “Ah trust in them and th’ ones Ah don’t will be dealt with before we leave. Yer skills are needed here, to keep up th’ front lines and stop the Cons from coming after us.”

“ -- and Ratchet has also informed me about wanting to be part of this! The CMO has decided to abandon his duties to chase after -- “

Jazz scowled, engine rumbling quietly. “Prowl,” he called but the other pushed on.

“You’re not going to make it!” Prowl hissed, sensor panels hiked up and spread wide as he loomed over the smaller mech. “This is lunacy! Prime’s plan is not going to work and we can’t lose him! Or anyone of you!”

_**I** can’t lose you. _

The words were not said out loud but they hung between them, painfully clear. Jazz could see it from the way Prowl’s sensor panels were trembling despite the aggressive display and from the way his claws were flexing.

He didn’t want to do it but at the same time the silvery mech knew he had to.

“Yer emotions are cloudin’ yer processors, Prowler,” Jazz said, cold and calculating, not even reacting, when the bigger mech’s engine revved and his field burst again, grating against the silvery mech’s. “We have no idea where Megatron is or if he already has the Cube and if that’s the case, our only hope is Optimus. Ya know that. And he needs someone to save his aft from trouble. Ah might be the head of Spec Ops but my duty is to be with him.”

Prowl stared at him, faceplates twisted into a snarl but Jazz didn’t show any kind of emotion as he stared back with no expression.

Despite so, it nearly broke Jazz’s spark, when he said the next words. “Goodbye, Prowl,” Jazz said with a curt nod and it took all of his training not to turn around and walk away without looking back.


	25. Making Up Afterwards

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> No matter how long it had been, it still hurt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you thought yesterday's fic was sad, then I hope you're ready for today's prompt. :D

Prowl stared at the memory chip resting on his palm, where Ratchet had gently placed with a quiet “this is for you”.

He had been planet side barely a solar cycle, when he had found out the truth; an abnormally gentle Ironhide had pulled Prowl to the side, away from the group that had been greeting their lost but now found Prime. The old warrior had delivered the news, using two simple glyphs but his sub vocals had been filled with loss, regret and anger.

Then Prime had approached him, the massive mech’s field pulsing once with apology-shame-grief before he rested a servo on Prowl’s shoulder. “Am sorry,” Optimus had said, squeezing the soot covered armor.

Their actions, their words had torn open an old scar inside Prowl, deeper and more painful than any injury he had experienced.

It was at that moment, when Prowl had decided to close his emotional center, acknowledging Prime’s words with a sharp nod and then had proceeded to follow orders given to him and his team. His battle computer had questioned the logic of using the local dominating species as allies, already having hacked his way into the most commonly used information space, searching through every single thing written or made about Cybertronians.

But while Prowl had been lying on a crude medical slab, inside a vast but fragile hangar, the normally irate CMO had paused and reached for his subspace. Having pushed himself into a sitting position, Prowl had stared at the oddly hesitant mech before he had been offered the memory chip now resting on his servo.

The scratched sensory panels trembled as he read the engravings on the memory chip, identifying the maker. Dreading, Prowl turned his emotional center back on even as he opened a panel from his left forearm, revealing a port. He had barely noticed Ratchet leaving the hangar, allowing Prowl the privacy he needed.

His servos were trembling but Prowl plugged he memory chip in, unsurprised as he wasn’t met with strong firewalls or traps that would destroy the information. Instead he found one file with a name that made Prowl keen brokenly, plating clattering in his distress.

_Forgive me._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inside that file is few things, meant for Prowl only; some image captures from Jazz's travel in space, letters he wrote for Prowl and one video, one Jazz made the very next day after their argument. In it Jazz apologises for the pain he caused, tells how much he loves Prowl and how he will miss him and -- because he made the video as last goodbye, knowing Prowl would only get to see it, if he died -- how he will be waiting for Prowl in the Afterspark.


	26. Getting Married

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What are best friends for? To make sure that things will get to done while you're too nervous to function properly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OK. I admit. I wanted to write another piece for the noble!AU but my muse wanted to write something crack-like. Hence the thing here.

Jazz hadn’t thought that he could feel both this anxious and happy at the same time. He was normally a somewhat restless mech, always moving a digit or a pede or bobbing his helm into a private tune. But right now that restlessness was much worse, fueled by Jazz’s nerves.

The black and white mech hurried from one room to another; at one moment he was looking for his audio horn decorations, then he was running to the kitchen to eat something so that he wouldn’t faint at the wrong moment and the next klik Jazz was sprinting to the washracks to check his wax for any smudges.

“How do you suggest we will deal with this?” a rather amused Blaster asked from his spout, lounging on the couch, where he watched his best friend run around like a headless bronzegallina. “He still hasn’t added the ceremonial marks and don’t think the mech has the nerves to paint a straight line.”

The red mech raised a browplate, when Jazz unceremoniously vaulted himself over the couch in his hurry to get back to the bedroom, dripping solvent as he went.

A soft scoff was heard from the third mech in the apartment. “Don’t worry, I have everything in control,” Mirage informed rather imperiously even as he pulled something out of his subspace.

Blaster, who wasn’t sure what he had been expecting, had his optics widen in shock, when he saw the tranquilizer gun and made a half-aborted move to take it away but was too late:

The klik Jazz shot past him once again, Mirage aimed and fired, the dart landing right in the middle of the black aft.

“Holy frag!” Blaster yelped as the black and white mech went down almost immediately, feeling both impressed by the lithe mech’s aim as well as scared as Pit.

Tucking the tranquilizer into his subspace, Mirage glided to the snoring Jazz. “I’ll get him to the berth, you bring the paint. They are on the counter at the kitchen. Hurry up, we don’t want to be late.”

Blaster decided to be smart and do what the other had told, scurrying into the kitchen.

** **

“Ah’ll get ya for this,” Jazz hissed for the second time, resetting his visor once again as he tried to shake off the last bits of the rogue coding that had forced him offline.

“Yes yes, I know,” Mirage replied airily, although it was clear that he didn’t take the threats or the dark glares sent into his direction seriously.

“Ah mean it, they’ll never find yer body,” the black and white mech insisted, pede drumming the floor as he stood in front of the huge, engraved doors. From the other side gentle music floated into their audios and despite his grumblings, Jazz was carefully listening to it, not wanting to miss his mark.

Mirage sighed. “This is the thanks I get from helping you get through this day. Really. I honestly don’t know what Prowl is seeing in you, such ungrateful person you are -- ”

Jazz’s arm shot forward, jabbing the blue and white mech between his armor plating, smirking as Mirage’s dramatic speech turned into a surprised squawk.

Grinning smugly, Jazz was saved from Mirage’s wrath by the opening of the doors.

And the first thing he saw was Prowl, standing on the opposite end of the hall and even with the distance between them, their gazes met. His plating was gleaming, buffed to perfection but what nearly took Jazz’s breath away was the wide, happy smile on Prowl’s face.

Spark soaring, Jazz barely heard the music starting again but he was already moving, walking towards his future bondmate.

Optimus stood in the middle of the hall, inside a golden circle that was surrounded by blessed glyphs. The Prime was wearing an old stole, one that no one had seen him wear in several millennia but at the moment the gathered mechs attention were on the pair approaching the circle.

Finally, Jazz stood in front of Prowl, field filled with love and happiness and he couldn’t believe that it was finally happening, after all this time.

Optimus looked fondly at them, feeling so happy for his two friends as they reached t hold each other’s servos. The music quieted down and silence fell into the hall before he started speaking, whispering prayers of old time for Primus to bless the mechs that were about to become one.

 _::Love ya. Ya look so beautiful::_ Jazz couldn’t help but comm Prowl, squeeze his digits.

The white doorwings fluttered as Prowl smiled gently. _::Love you too. Finally, you will be mine and I’ll be yours, now and forever.::_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah. The ending is quite similar to the ending in In Formal Wear but with few changes. I tried to make it different but my muse wanted to ma put more attention to the first part of the story.


	27. On One Of Their Birthdays

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's his Creation Day and he is alone but at least video calls have been invented.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning, there's a booty call of sorts in this fic. Mechs will be getting messy in front of each other.
> 
> Am also late again. *stares at the clock*

The alarm roused him from recharge like every morning but the only difference was that this morning he lacked his usual warm, grumbling berthmate. Sighing, Prowl got up and moving, starting his morning routine; a visit to the washracks, then watching news from a datapad while he enjoyed the energon.

After a quick rinse, Prowl excited the washracks and headed for the kitchen to prepare the breakfast. But as soon as he reached there, the black and white mech stopped, doorwings flapping in surprise. On the dark, polished counter waited Prowl’s morning energon and a bowl that had his favorite biscuits.

With a small smile on his face, Prowl picked the glass as well as the bowl, sitting down by the table. Reaching for a datapad, Prowl scanned the headlines before opening one newsfeed about the grand opening of a new theater in Kolkular.

Once finished, Prowl placed the dirty glass on the sink, he subspaced few more datapads before onlining the security system. A quick trip down the hall and in the lift and Prowl was out of the door, taking in the still quiet streets. Few mechs passed him, driving to work and above the air traffic was picking up.

Transforming, Prowl then drove to the station without a hassle, the sight of his Enforcer decals subduing any potential speedsters in the developing morning rush. Half a joor later Prowl transformed again in front of a modest but heavily reinforced building. He was about to get inside, when sound of two powerful engines approached the station, the source turning out to be the twins. The pair transformed into their bipedal forms, the yawning Sideswipe carrying a steamy cup energon while the more alert looking Sunstreaker stretched his arms.

“Good morning,” Prowl nodded to the twins, walking up the few steps to the front door.

“Morning,” Sunstreaker greeted back while Sideswipe just nodded, since he was sipping his drink at that moment.

“How was the patrol?” the black and white mech continued, keeping the door open for them.

“Nothing unusual, some youngsters thinking it was fun to speed at the highway in the middle of the night and we were called to calm down few rowdy parties,” Sunstreaker reported and what he said last caused the red twin to smirk languidly.

“You should’ve accepted that number, Sunny, that medic really liked you,” Sideswipe mused, sipping his energon as they walked towards main office in the second floor.

The yellow mech merely rolled his optics at the comment but considering that was the only thing he did, Prowl hazarded that Sunstreaker was agreeing with Sideswipe.

Once they reached the second floor, the twins bade Prowl farewell, heading to the break room, while the black and white mech walked to his desk, only to find the second surprise of the morning:

A gift card to his favorite bookshop.

Prowl picked it up and he shook his helm with a fond smile as he subspaced the gift card and set to work.

The morning passed with him filling reports from previous shift before leaving the station for a patrol with Chromedome.

“Oh right, today’s your Creation day, isn’t it?” Chromedome remembered as they waited for the lights to turn. “Congratulations.”

“Thank you.”

“You have any plans for tonight with Jazz?” Chromedome asked as they drove down the street, heading to the central Iacon.

“No, he’s out of town for two orns,” Prowl replied, scanning the passing mechs and femmes.

“He is? That’s too bad,” Chromedome mused, sounding genuinely sorry for Prowl.

The black and white mech merely hummed and should’ve he been in his bipedal form, Chromedome would’ve seen the small smile he would’ve had. “Maybe.”

* * *

 

Prowl entered the apartment with two new book files under his arm, entering the code to turn of the security system. With a sigh he placed the book files on the dinner table and prepared himself something to eat. Once refueled, he sat down on the couch, stopping for a moment to look around the empty apartment.

It was so quiet with only him there and for a moment Prowl felt a pang of sadness at being alone on this particular orn. Offlining his optics, Prowl calmed himself and concentrated on the faint presence in his spark, testing the connection with a gentle nudge.

He smiled a little as his questioning bump got a reply in a form of a faint pulse, the feelings of love and affection filling his spark.

It was the reason why Prowl wasn’t surprised, when the flat screen on the wall flashed on, informing Prowl of an incoming call. He accepted it without a hesitation, the smiling face of his bondmate’s appearing on the screen.

“Hi Prowler,” Jazz smiled back, waving his fingers. The window behind him showed the night sky, and Prowl belatedly remembered it was already a night in Kolkular.

“Hello Jazz, am sorry if I woke you up,” Prowl apologized, his doorwings fluttering in emphasis.

“Nah, it’s alright, was waitin’ for the chance to call ya,” the other mech reassured him, leaning against the computer console, jaw resting on the palm of his servo. “Happy Creation day, sweetspark, hope ya liked yer presents,” Jazz wished with a smile, and Prowl could feel another faint wave of love through the bond.

“I did, thank you, although I really hope you were here,” he replied honestly, sighing as he slouched on the couch. Jazz nodded, agreeing with Prowl’s thoughts.

“Same here, sweetspark, but Ah’ll be back soon. We can party after am home.”

“Yes, we can do that,” Prowl nodded before pausing, the doorwings hiking up a little as an idea came to him. “We could do something right now,” he started, getting more comfortable on the couch before tracing his chest with a servo, the white digits slowly moving lower. “Unless you are too tired, love?”

The visored mech purred, the smile turning into a predatory grin as he caught quickly on what the other was planning. “Not at all, Prowl. Like Ah told ya, was waiting for the chance to call.” Jazz’s engine revved as he watched Prowl’s fingers brush his crotch. “Ya want to give me a show, sweetspark? Is that what ya wish to do?” he asked, his voice slightly husky.

“Yes,” Prowl replied, shifting his legs and spreading them wider, giving Jazz a good view of his panels covering his interface equipment, “I want you to tell me what we would do, if you were here, Jazz.”

“Ohh, think Ah can arrange something like that,” the other mech agreed with a smirk, straightening his pose. “Open up, Prowl, let me see yer spike,” Jazz rumbled, the deep voice making Prowl gasp as his interface systems instantly reacted to it.

The Enforcer shuddered but did as he was told, panels retracting to reveal his unpressurized cord, the red colored tip already peeping out. Prowl’s fans were already spinning, excited and aroused by what was going to happen.

“Good good, sweetspark,” Jazz purred, the stretched bond revealing his excitement and own arousal to Prowl. “If Ah were there, Ah would lick and kiss every part of yer frame while stroking yer spike, get it nice and hard. Give it a little squeeze, just like ya are right now, Prowler.”

Prowl shuddered at Jazz’s words, his own digits already coaxing the spike out, groaning slightly as he pumped himself. “Jazz,” Prowl gasped, biting his bottom lip.

“Oh ya look so hot right now, Prowler. Come on, move yer hand a little faster, that’s it. Can see ye pressurizing all the way from here. Ah would love to get my mouth on ya right now, sweetspark, feel yer spike rest on my glossa - oh, that was a nice moan. Do it again, Prowl.”

The panting mech did as he was told, twisting his wrist as he pumped the fully pressurized spike, using his thumb to rub the tip, smearing the first drops of fluids all over it.

“Damn, ya are leakin’ already,” Jazz groaned himself, gnawing his lower lip and his other hand had reached down, to touch himself as well. “Get those ridges slick, Prowl, ya know how much Ah like the feeling of them rubbing my v-valve.”

Prowl nodded with a grunt, missing the way Jazz’s breathing hitched as he stroked himself faster, fluids creating a mess on his fingers and all over his spike. He did hear Jazz moan just a moment later, his frame reacting to the sound of his bondmate in pleasure; the doorwings flared wide open and he bent forward, back curling.

“J-Jazz,” Prowl panted, heavily lifting his optics back to the screen, seeing Jazz slouch against the chair, hand moving rhythmically just out of the camera’s view. “Nngh!” the black and white mech groaned, when he watched Jazz arch on the screen, his audios catching the faint wet sounds and Prowl’s core temperature went another notch at that.

“F-frag, keep doin’ that. Ah’m almost -- mmh -- almost ready.”

“Are you - are you going to ride me?” Prowl asked huskily, playing with the thicker base of his cord, finger tips catching the dip between two ridges, following the sensitive line. He loved when Jazz did that, to be able to watch that agile frame move on top of him while the expression Jazz’s face was nothing but pure ecstasy.

“Definitely,” Jazz replied, flashing Prowl a wicked grin, which proved to be his undoing.

With a loud moan Prowl overloaded, nearly doubling on the couch as pleasure surged through his frame and through the open bond. He could hear another cry of pleasure from Jazz as the other found his release as well. Hot transfluid coated Prowl’s hand as he kept stroking himself through the overload, slowing down, until he let go and slumped against the couch.

A throaty chuckle had Prowl smiling and he onlined his optics again, finding a rather disheveled but grinning Jazz looking right back at him.

“That was fast,” he commented, and Prowl could only nod, agreeing. “Guess ya are really getting’ old,” Jazz said, visor sparkling mischievously, to which Prowl snorted.

“You overloaded just as fast,” he reminded the other mech, who only laughed again.

“Yeah, guess Ah did. But the question is, are ya done for the night?” Narrowed optics met a twinkling visor.

“Are _you_ , love?” Prowl asked back, challenging but he was grinning as well.

“When it comes to ya, Prowl? Never,” Jazz purred.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Three more stories and two Bonus stories left!


	28. Doing Something Ridiculous

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> No animals were harmed while writing this story.

He did his best not to grin as he shook his helm. “No.”

The pleading look only intensified. “Please?”

“No.”

“Pretty please with a silver shavings on top?” the other mech tried again, looking so earnest that it was really, really hard not to grin.

“Tempting, love, but no.”

The kicked turbopup expression turned into a pout that was just as adorable, the pursing bottom lip and everything. “You’re mean,” came the petulant accusation.

Okay, now he couldn’t help himself; a fond grin appeared on his lips. “Love, am sure it already has an owner,” Prowl told Jazz, who only pouted even more at that.

“But Ah found it wandering next to the road, alone and abandoned!” Jazz tried, petting the upset animal he was holding in his servos. “Ah can take care of it. Promise!”

“Jazz,” Prowl said, raising a browplate as he gave his lover a _look_.

The visored mech continued to pout. “But - “

“No. Go find Hound, he can help you find the owner, am sure the humans who have lost it are searching for their pet.” Prowl leaned closer and pressed a kiss on Jazz’s forehelm. “Maybe we can ask from Prime to get a pet of our own,” he suggested to Jazz, hoping it would make him feel better.

And lo and behold, Jazz visibly brightened at the idea.

“You’re the best Prowler,” he told the other, capturing Prowl’s lips into a proper kiss, careful not to squish the squirming mammal between them and left the SIC's office with a spring in his step.

But before the door closed, Prowl thought he heard Smokescreen's voice.

“Hello Jaz -- _holy frag, is that a bear?!_ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Think this happened maybe a day or two after they woke up from their long nap on Earth. They know humans have pets like they did but just what kind of pets? Well, that's a bit different story.


	29. Doing Something Sweet

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's only one left after this one! And my muse decided to stand me up just to honor that. :,D

Not many knew how long they had been together (and only Jazz and Prowl knew the exact date) but they still loved each other just as much as they had in the beginning of their relationship but that love had grown and changed shape in time.

Instead of grand gestures of love, they showed their affection in different ways, little gestures that they shared with each other.

It was Jazz bringing Prowl a fresh cube of energon, when he forgot to refuel, and Prowl letting his tightly controlled field to uncoil, the gentle brushes helping Jazz to calm down after a bad mission.

It was Prowl crooning cheesy Praxian love songs into Jazz’s audio as they swayed on the dance floor, and Jazz nuzzling Prowl’s chevron, when the SIC lay on the medical berth, under heavy pain medication.

But most of the Autobots didn’t see past these little gestures and how much they meant for Jazz and Prowl. Instead, to the pair’s glee and frustration, they thought that the two mechs were developing crushes on each other, which lead to slightly awkward situations.

Such situations involved Ratchet giving Prowl, to the SIC's amusement, advice on what kind of moves he should use on Jazz, while Jazz got ganged up by Smokescreen, twins and Optimus, giving him (not so) thinly veiled threats of what would happen, if Prowl were hurt because of Jazz.

It was none of their business, how Jazz and Prowl chose to express their love but sometimes they wondered, if it were better to just make out in front of everyone to put an end to the rumors.

(In the end they had no need for such drastic plan; Bluestreak was more than happy to set the record straight, once he found about that his darling son-in-law had been unjustly harassed by _Optimus Fragging Prime_.)

(The result of Autobots finding out that _Bluestreak_ was Prowl’s _sire_  was another story that involved several processor crashes, a swearing medic and a very loudly cackling Jazz.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Made Bluestreak the sire this time. 
> 
> Anyway, just imagine a rec. room full of Autobots fritzing before keeling over as they tried to process the facts that a) Bluestreak's older than Prowl, b) Bluestreak's Prowl's sire! and c) SLAG OPTIMUS WATCH WHERE YOU'RE FAINTING, YOU NEARLY FLATTENED SOME MINIBOTS AND SIDESWIPE!


	30. Doing Something Hot (nsfw)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes it's good to take things slowly and enjoy the view.
> 
> Warnings: NSFW chapter, inteface happens

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it, people. The 30 Days of Jazz and Prowl is officially over. What a ride this has been and I hope you all have been enjoying the trip. I will be taking a better look of the stories now that this is over, because I've noticed really awkward language in few of them, mostly because I had the habit of writing nearly every around midnight, whoops.
> 
> But all in all, thank you for all your lovely comments and kudos. It's been a pleasure to read your thoughts.

That soft, breathless moan was a beautiful thing to hear; it made his engine purr and field pulse with _love-lust-love_ while his hold on the black hips tightened, squeezing the armor. “That’s it, love, slowly,” Jazz crooned, fingers easing their hold and his thumbs rubbed hot metal, “ _slowly_.”

Before him, Prowl’s doorwings hiked up before bouncing twice as a reply, the kneeling Praxian’s frame trembling slightly as he continued to lower himself on Jazz’s cord. His valve was already dripping from their first round, fluids trickling down the white thighs. The white fingers flexed on the berth as Prowl struggled not impale himself onto the spike as another thick ridge slipped in.

“Good, Prowler~,” Jazz purred as he leaned against the wall, watching his spike disappear into the other mech’s valve. The visual treat being combined to the physical feeling of that slick heat enveloping his length was amazing and, when Prowl clenched around him _just so_ , the Polyhexian mech could only groan hoarsely.

The temptation to just pull Prowl down and bury himself completely inside his doorwinged lover was tantalizing but, just like Prowl, Jazz held back. That was not the purpose right now, no. This time they were going to take slow and enjoy.

Half way done, Prowl stilled, gasping as the charge became nearly too much, little arcs glowing from between the cracks of his armor.

“Jazz,” he pleaded, his doorwings trembling even more. Not a second later there were hands on the sensitive panels, gently stroking and massaging the metal, helping Prowl to calm down a little.

“Ya’re doing great, love,” Jazz murmured, his own voice slightly shaky from the arousal. “We’re - we’re almost done, Prowl,” he groaned, when the other mech shifted slightly, pulling away just enough for one of his spike ridges to slip out.

“Mmm-hm,” Prowl moaned, biting his lower lips as he pushed backwards once again, clawing the berth. His valve fluttered, clenching rhythmically and more lubrication dribbled down, the wet trails illuminated by the spike’s biolights before pooling on the Polyhexian’s lap.

Jazz swallowed back a strangled curse at the sight, helm tilting back and hitting the wall with a quiet ‘thunk’ as he gripped Prowl’s hips. His field fluctuated, tangling with Prowl’s as Jazz did nothing to hide just how hard this was making him tick. “Oh - oh Primus. Just -- keep going, love.”

The doorwings bobbed as a silent reply as Prowl was too busy keening in pleasure, his back arching in a way that made Jazz whimper just a bit.

Finally, only moments before they both were almost ready to give in to the lust, Prowl’s aft rested firmly on Jazz’s lap.

Jazz breathed heavily, forehelm resting between Prowl’s doorwings as he breathed heavily, trying to hold himself together just a bit longer. His arms were tightly wrapped around Prowl’s waist, servos fondling feverishly the bumber there.

And Prowl was none the better. His armor rattled quietly and there were shallow gouges on the berth from where the Praxian had clawed the soft bedding too hard. He kept clenching and relaxing around the spike inside him and his valve was leaking hard enough to create a small puddle under the visored mech’s aft.

“F-frag,” Jazz swore under his breath.

A shaky, breathless laughter came from the other mech. “Yes - _now_.”

Jazz blinked, wondering for a moment if the charge had fried something in his processor, before a feral grin spread on his lips. Revving his engine, Jazz latched his mouth on the base of Prowl’s left doorwing, the mech in his lap jumping in from the mix of surprise and pleasure, a loud cry tumbling from Prowl’s lips.

“Yer wish is my command,” Jazz purred into the doorwing, relishing in the way Prowl shook in his arms, field flaring with anticipation and the valve tightened around Jazz’s length like a vice.

The visored mech pulled backwards before rolling his hips forward in a slow, circular motion, grinding his crotch plating into Prowl’s aft, making both of them gasp in pleasure, the charge surging inside their overheated frames.

They both knew this wouldn’t last long but, as Jazz rolled his hips and Prowl followed the movement, they had no regrets.

None whatsoever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just like me. Have no regrets on giving a second shot to this challenge. Sure, there were moments, when I was utterly frustrated with my muse and the writing was painful but then there were times, when things just clicked and words appeared on the screen without a problem. 
> 
> Once again, thank you for reading these. I hope you've enjoyed them. 
> 
> In the future I will most likely pick and write proper stories for the noble!AU and the mysterious, Prowl The (Not-Maybe-Who-Knows-Not-Me) Turbofox AU. :D


	31. Bonus Story: Spotting Someone Really Attractive

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's really not the case of spotting but all but drooling over them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Errr... For a bonus story, this got a bit out of hand. It wasn't supposed to be this long.

“Ah’m telling ya, Ah work in the club,” Jazz repeated and he would’ve been waving his arms in frustration except he had been stasiscuffed, which meant only his audio horns kept twitching somewhat aggressively, field snapping in irritation as he stood face to face with the doubtful Enforcer.

“You were seen throwing them out of the door while using excessive amount of violence before illegally zap strapping them,” the Enforcer shot back, his posture calm but Jazz could see the corner of his optic twitch, a sign of annoyance as he commed someone. “I am taking you to the station, all of you. End of story.”

The bouncer/musician snarled at that. “’Excessive amount of violence’? Mech, have ya seen those three?!” Jazz demanded, sluggishly nodding towards the three giggling mechs, sitting on the curb.

Three huge, giggling mechs with construction alt.modes, who paid no attention to the arguing pair.

“Ya seriously think Ah used excessive amount of violence against them? They don’t even realize they’ve been zap strapped!”

Around half a joor ago Jazz had had to subdue the three very overcharged customers, who had been bothering other clients as well as had caused some minor damage to the club. Dealing with them had been easy, since luckily they were jovial drunks, and calling Enforcers to the drag their afts into the station to sober up had been just as easy.

But the silvery mech had not expected end up being arrested by an overly enthusiastic _newbie_ , who had just taken a look of the scene and made assumptions of the wrong kind.

The Enforcer’s optic twitched even more and his plating ruffled, the mask of an officer cracking. “There are eyewitnesses and we need to be sure -- “

Oh this had to be one of the worst nights Jazz had experienced. “Listen ya rusted piece of -- “

Had Jazz been able to finish, he would have most likely been slapped with the charge of threatening an Enforcer on top of the one he was going to get from resisting an Enforcer (the cogsucker had informed Jazz of that almost the moment he had gotten there), but then both his and Enforcer Fraghelm’s attention were diverted to the sleek, powerful alt. mode that pulled up next to them.

Jazz stopped his verbal abuse, pale violet visor brightening in admiration as he took in the immaculately waxed black and white armor and the gleaming Enforcer decals that decorated the alt. mode’s sides.

Then the mech transformed and holy Primus, he was _stunning_ ; all business and shiny plating. The expression on the handsome face was neutral but the sharp, golden optics swept over the scene as the white sensor panels, that just begged to be worshiped, flared wide before settling down.

Frag that, this was one of the best nights Jazz had experienced.

And, thankfully, Jazz was a natural born multitasker; he might be stasiscuffed and one third of his processor might be in the process of melting into putty but the silvery mech immediately started to demand being released, much to the shock of Enforcer Fraghelm, whose engine screeched in incredulous horror.

“Right, officer, there’s been a mistake and this gentlemech here has a glitch in the audios or somethin’, ‘cause they don’t seem to understand plain Neocybex,” Jazz informed, swaying dangerously as he slowly turned towards the approaching Enforcer Hotbod. “Ah was just doin’ my job. Ah didn’t kick these mechs out, Ah escorted them. Ya can ask the club owner for the security tapes to check it.”

Enforcer Hotbod didn’t say anything but he gave Enforcer Fraghelm a look, and Jazz smirked a little, when he saw the fragger start to squirm.

It got even better, when Shockcircuit finally managed to get out, the fuming femme carrying the security tapes Jazz had mentioned only moments ago. “If you were kind enough to release my bouncer? He was following orders from me,” the blue and white femme spoke, thrusting the security tapes to Enforcer Hotbod while glaring daggers at Enfocer Fraghelm.

Shockcircuit’s sudden move made the sensor panels flutter slightly, and Jazz had to work hard to keep his jaw shut. Damn, he really wanted to get his claws on them.

“Enforcer Crossroad.”

Jazz lost the battle right there and then; his jaw landed somewhere on the dirty curb, when Enfocer Hotbod spoke to Enforcer Fragroad, the deep voice rolling over the silvery mech like hot oil and fraaaag, did his interface system just overpower the stasiscuffs?

Shockcircuit, who had been standing almost next to Jazz, gave the silvery mech a sharp glance, which Jazz completely missed, because Enforcer Hotbod kept speaking in that wonderfully, rumbly voice of his.

“Please take these and make sure you include them in to the rapport,” Enforcer Hotbod told - no, ordered Fragroad, who nodded somewhat meekly, taking the offered security tapes, “and go interview the other suspects. I will handle things from here.”

Oh yes, please, Jazz would love to be handled by this fine piece of mech -- unless it was Enforcer Hotbod, who wanted to be handled. Jazz’s processor, the poor circuits that were still functioning, nearly fritzed at the mental images.

His little daydreams came to an end, when the golden optics turned towards him once again, and the silvery mech tried to act sharp, even if it was a rather sorry attempt thanks to the stasiscuffs. Jazz reined his field in, when the black and white mech stepped closer and reached for the cuffs with his sharp, beautiful claws.

The surge of energy rushed through Jazz, when he was released, once again able to move normally. “Thanks,” he told Enforcer Hotbod, rubbing his wrists. “Should Ah come to the station to clear the charges or would ya like to pick me up tomorrow night? Ah’m free the whole night, if ya are interested,” Jazz asked with a flirtatious wink before he caught himself, mentally cursing himself and next to him Shockcircuit pinched the bridge of her olfactory sensor.

Enforcer Hotbod on the other hand just stared at Jazz, face impassive but the silvery mech thought he might’ve seen the golden optics widen a fraction. Then again that could’ve been just his imagination, since right now Jazz too busy wishing to become one with Primus below.

Visor tinting into darker violet, Jazz shifted on his pedes. Frag, this night was once again becoming the worst one ever. “Err, sorry, Ah meant - that is - “ he tried to come up with an explanation but continued to flail, while his boss all but threw her servos up and went to harass Enforcer Fragroad.

The golden optics continued to stare at Jazz like he was a rogue piece of coding, analyzing him.

“Ah’ll come to the station tomorrow,” Jazz finally managed to say, audio horns wilting.

“Please do, mister…?” Enforcer Hotbod replied evenly, one browplate tilting subtly.

“Oh, the designation’s Jazz,” the silvery mech informed, using the formal glyphs as he spoke, attention suddenly back on the sensor panels that were fluttering.

“Enforcer Prowl, a pleasure to meet you,” the black and white mech introduced himself, and for a moment Jazz thought his processors had been permanently fritzed, because Enforcer Hotbod reached for his servo, not to shake it but to --

Jazz’s field surged in surprise and his jaw dropped the second time that night, when soft lips pressed on the back of his servo, the contact barely lasting for a klik but it was enough to make Jazz’s interface system ping.

“I would like to meet you again tomorrow. What time should I expect you, Jazz?”

A shiver ran down Jazz’s strut as he heard Enforcer Hotbod say his name, the interface systems pinging him again, more insistently this time.

Holy slag, this really was the _best_ night ever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I actually wrote the first part of this story for another prompt but then decided that it didn't fit it. But at the same time I didn't want to scrap what I had written so I saved it. Turned out it was a good decision. Lucky me.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [30 Days of Prowl and Jazz](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13246416) by [Searece](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Searece/pseuds/Searece)




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